He had gone to bed at 11 and now was waiting for some semblance of the fatigue he felt turning hie eyes red to drive his brain to shut itself down. Three and a half hours until he had to be up again, maybe another 15 minutes if he didn't wash more than his hair.
What was it this time? He couldn't even clearly remember. There was no focus left. He had spent the past six hours trying to clear the conversation and its repercussions from his head, and the mix of thought, video and fantasy he had driven himself to engage in to clear out the other thought had done nothing to help him sleep. It had confused things. He wondered if he should dig it up again.
"No use," he said as he sat up. Tears came to his eyes as he reconciled to say what he needed. He wouldn't call. Waking her up for this was not nice. She had work to and there was no sense in ruining both of their slumbers.
He sat down in front of the computer punching the monitor button to turn it on. The box didn't sleep. As the screen flickered to life he opened the document he had been working on for some time now. He would make little changes here and there now and then. Time for a new paragraph.
It seems to me as though my life has turned again for the worst. She hates me and is only staying with me until she can find someone better. She sounds exasperated when she says she loves me. She got off the phone and went to hook up with some guy. I know it...
It continued in such banal fashion for a while. Though he considered himself as such, he was not smart. No one would confuse his works with those of a competent writer. And yet, in five hours time, he would be the cause of salvation for the world as it would be...for the survivors.
Martin Trapper: the first person to die of the strange disease that would be named "Traps," and in whose tissue would be found an antiviral that stopped it. His girlfriend would die of the disease three hours after him. She had never cheated. She would have regretted not doing so if she had had a chance.
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