Gone Lawn
a journal of literature
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Gone Lawn 14
Spring, 2014

Featured Novel Excerpt
New Works

Kim Farleigh

Sod & the Insomniacs

When the Insomniacs first discarded sleep wasn't known; the Sleepers avoided analysing Insomniac dream-crushing vision for fear of receiving names that nice people avoided receiving. Questioning Insomnia infuriated its beholders so nice people avoided criticising the fervour that gripped Insomniacs because nice people disliked being called the nasty names that Insomniacs adored calling others so Insomnia persisted for much longer than it should have.
Insomnia Land has had many names. Depending upon your perception the names vary. And what's in a name? Plenty if your investments depend upon nomenclature.
The place, whatever it was called, bred Insomnia, for its vast dimensions stimulated imaginations, diminishing the individual, creating higher forces that demanded single dreams, many single dreams having existed in Insomniaville where archaeologists had much work, for many races, beliefs and communities had populated that land of agile conception.
Given how easily single dreams in that blessed land arose, the Insomniacs repressed the Sleepers and their past, cheap electricity, land and water offered to bring Insomniacs "back to their roots," this return repressing those whose minds were washed nightly with different dreams. "Returning to your roots" implied believing in certain eccentricities, but why not accept fantasies if they lower living costs?
The Insomniacs, adoring literary figures who promoted the unitary dream, found birth certificates insignificant, their ancestors filling enormous kingdoms that archaeology couldn't detect, Julius Cesar, Shakespeare, Attila the Hun, Alexander the Great, Beethoven, Napoleon, Leonardo da Vinci, Van Gogh and Mozart irrelevant in comparison to Insomnia's two main creations – Raverham and Salmon.
The Insomniacs' special eyesight couldn't detect genius; the respect induced for actuality by other people's sleepy retinas left the Insomniacs suspicious of minds that got flooded nightly with new dreams, the flooding creating a dubious respect for evidence and a weird desire to establish conclusions based on proof. That really infuriated the Insomniacs.
Doses, another living creation in Insomniac imaginations, (pronounced Dozes; Sleepers say his creator must have been dosed with something), apparently said on escaping reality's asylum, and perhaps because he hated his own name: "Curse-ridden shaving implies waking in the morning."
This pronouncement, inaudible without special hearing, created full-faced Insomnia beards, the Sleepers preferring the maligned razor.
Sleeplessness improved competitiveness, hence the Insomniacs expanded economically, stripping the Sleepers of rights where the Sleepers had been born. Economic muscle creates the law and the law highlights principles. There were two principles: The Sleepers had been "introduced", despite having lived in Insomniaville for ten thousand years; the second: the creator of all – Sod – handed the Insomniacs more rights than everyone else in the universe. This created flexibility when deciding the law, arbitrary conclusions inflating Insomnia heads; suggesting this second principle reflected the flamboyant thoughts of mystical experiences anathema to engineering, produced accusations that nice people avoided, ensuring Insomnia's continuation.
Employing ad-hoc inventions of imaginative foundation enabled the Insomniacs to worship their dream of absolute universal importance, thereby altering mental functioning, perhaps explaining why people with torso-length beards, wearing white, ankle-length ensembles, have never won Nobel Prizes and why the Insomniacs caused outrage. Sleepers disdained self-ordained universal significance; but they should have realised the Insomniacs needed psychiatric help and not fury.
Nobody underestimated the exoticism of Insomniac apparel: Two-metre-high black hats with two-metre-perimeter rims that cowboys adored; black coats that trailed across the desert, marking the landscape to define territory, their hairstyles equally vivid: curling, spiraling, tubular follicles from umbrella hats to ankles, the follicles short in comparison to the coats that marked territory traversed to reinforce Sod's pact with the Insomniacs who were promised everything if they obeyed Sod. Why Sod needed black-coated beings to occupy a certain place on a specific planet bypassed normal comprehension. Maybe to appreciate some things you needed a mind capable of imagining anything?
The Sleepers wore less flamboyant apparel. Trousers and shirts satisfied them. If you aren't involved in cavalier rituals then trousers and shirts are enough; surreal activities require striking attire. If you bash your head into limestone, as the Insomniacs did daily, in obedience to Sod then something more vivid than trousers and shirts is required. Limestone head-bashing demands a more expressive mode of attire than the apparel donned by the Sleepers and the Insomniacs recognised their head-bashing's importance by producing clothing whose impact fashion designers tried matching, although few achieved the surrealism so cavalierly attained by the Insomniacs, but there was no shortage of trying on the part of designers in Milan, Paris and London.
Men in suits don't bash their heads into limestone. Someone wearing a Saville Row, striking their forehead into limestone, after having swung million-deals, would have looked insane, so the Insomniacs, who spend twilight rocking before limestone, donned ensembles befitting the occasion.
The limestone blocks that the head-bashing Insomniacs bashed their heads into were part of a building designed by a Sleeper who undertook large-scale construction programs. Due to the Insomniacs' lively imaginations and their tireless economic activity, which enabled them to decide history and the law, those limestone blocks formed part of a palace built by Salmon. Pink-faced, silvery-black-haired Salmon's building projects weren't possible during his lifetime but this didn't stop the Insomniacs from believing that Salmon's architectural expertise eclipsed that of the Egyptians, the Phoenicians and the Greeks who demonstrated their expertise by leaving buildings behind. How can you build a palace that disappears? Maybe Salmon used materials imported from spaceships? Mental flexibility promoted possibility.
To verify the existence of Salmon's elusive limestone masterpiece whose importance was unlimited given that it had contained a gift from Sod the Insomniacs began digging a hole where history's most significant building must have been. The hole got bigger and bigger. Finding nothing inspired the Insomniacs who indented the earth's crust with a crater a skyscraper could have occupied. One day they found a rock in the hole, the rock's indentations believed to mean "Salmon" in ancient Fleastew, the language spoken by those locked into singularity.
The fist-sized rock ended up in a glass cabinet on a pedestal beside the hole. That rock was irrefutable evidence that a civilisation of New York skyline dimensions full of Insomniacs had existed during Salmon's rosy-cheeked lifetime. Celebratory head-bashing occurred for weeks. Processions of euphoric Insomniacs blocked Sleepers trying to get to work. That fist-sized nugget was history's most important discovery. What man couldn't extrapolate from that pebble into imagining Insomniacs in gilt surrounds worshipping Sod in a construction that made the Pasadena Bowl resemble a public toilet? Pink-gilled Salmon's importance in history demanded such grandeur. Who were Christopher Columbus and Magellan compared to someone whose temples and palaces are impossible to find? Possibly those architectural achievements had been invisible given that no one has seen them, except in their imaginations? Imagine the powers required to build invisible architectural wonders. Salmon's extravagant genius made Frank Lloyd Wright resemble a supermarket designer, the former's magnificence revealed by him having created structures that surpassed the Acropolis and yet could disappear. What genius! No wonder the Insomniacs were enthralled by he whose powers made magicians resemble fumbling fools. Salmon, known as Sal, (maybe he wore women's clothes), was so subtle in his calculations that one of the only things ascribed to his majesty was a rock that for Sleepers was just a rock – subtle in that this rock was a clear test of faith in Sal's existence.
To see what the Insomniacs saw you needed special vision, retinas that could detect the radiation left by Salmon's wonders. Those retinas could see the past! The Insomniacs saw everything all at once so visionary was their clarity of thought that turned that fist-sized rock into the only building block ever to have dropped from heaven, delivered directly to Sal from Sod. Thank Sod that rock didn't knock Sal unconscious. Even Sod could have his industrial accidents. Imagine the effect that would have had on fantasy. Had that rock struck Sal's head, the only interpretation possible would have been that Sod had been furious with Sal for taking so long to build something that couldn't be seen anyway given Salmon's flair for invisibility. Sod may have thought there was something fishy about Salmon's pretences to architectural magnificence, hence the rock that may have just deliberately missed its supposed target as a warning; although missing the target or not was irrelevant because Salmon never dies; how could he have died? There's no grave.
Not washing the mind nocturnally with pertinent dreaminess caused a visionary self-belief that enabled the Insomniacs to avoid eternal powerlessness. The more time awake, fixated in utilitarian trances, like cogs of the same feverish belief, the more self-importance ascended to levels that the Sleepers could only dream about. Shaving, with its inherent dangers, snapped Sleepers out of trances as if facial-hair loss shortened temporal perspectives, leading to visible buildings being constructed by them that didn't disappear, the Insomniacs requiring the supernatural to avoid despair.
Insomnia's capacity to make the impossible real created different Insomniacs. A sub-group, whose foot-high hats of solid leather symbolised protection against meteorites that could shoot mysteriously from above, flourished near the Hole of the Rock. Sod wouldn't have knocked Salmon unconscious, but there was a belief the rock had a dual functionalism: a permanent building block while inferring punishment for ignoring Sod's orders.
The Insomniacs believed that people wearing fancy dress should occupy a planet in a vague solar system in an obscure galaxy. How a universe creator could be concerned about that was anyone's guess, except the Insomniacs' who already knew, their conclusion leading them to pad their foreheads with wood to avoid sense getting knocked into their heads when bashing their skulls into limestone.
The Insomniacs detested ruining good stories with facts; not refreshing the mind with new nightly ideas helped to reinforce belief in life's fantastic dimensions. Such was their distaste for disagreeable facts that the Insomniacs didn't ask themselves how Salmon's works could have been constructed. How many stonemasons would have been needed? Where did those stonemasons come from? Was stonemasonry common when Salmon employed his invisibility? And why build something so important where archaeology has demonstrated lacked infrastructure and people? Was there was a woman involved? Sal maybe wanted to impress a babe in a remote hamlet, a lightning bolt fracturing the sky, Sal clicking his fingers, the rock sailing out of beard-like mists and: There it was! No project management skills required. No builders who could not have lived anywhere near the place.
Yes, there it was: something only Greeks, Phoenicians or Egyptians, with their populations and technology, could have built, although Greek, Phoenician and Egyptian buildings were visible. So mystery pursued Salmon. Some suggested there was something fishy about he who once allegedly said a time existed for all. Yes, a time for all if imagination and reality are inseparable.
Because separation didn't exist for the Insomniacs, Salmon never died – metaphysically that is. It's a tremendous achievement to build buildings that evaporate. One wonders what else has existed that has never been found. But rumour can be enough, especially if you discount analysis. It's a curious thing that the expression "Insomniac ruins" didn't exist as if nothing had been ruined.
Apart from adoring invisible structures, the Insomniacs insisted that structures that did exist never existed. How this perceptual turnabout was achieved confused psychiatrists who lacked the perception given to the Insomniacs by Sod. Someone somewhere seemed to be suffering from something, but if enough people believe in something it must be true.
The Hole of the Rock became a shrine equal to the Head Basher's Wall that was the only thing constructed by Salmon that could be seen, although dating techniques demonstrated that that wall was built after Sal's alleged existence. This wasn't a problem because Salmon mastered delayed construction techniques. He could visualise futures and those futures appeared. He bamboozled science. He made dating techniques redundant by reversing nuclear processes, thereby reversing perception and there's no greater power than that.
From six in the afternoon, Insomniacs, with wild looks of desperation, rushed to the Hole of the Rock. Everyone would have loved to have kissed the rock but this wasn't advisable because contact with the famous pebble caused baldness and vomiting. Sod didn't permit touching his products and really one shouldn't touch meteorites for radioactive material as we know can be dangerous.
At the Hole of the Rock, incomprehensible mumbling, with rapid rocking, occurred where depth expanded with time as the energetic Insomniacs kept excavating the hole, looking for a construction more splendid than the Taj Mahal or La Alhambra. Given poor judgement didn't exist for the Insomniacs, something that upset the Sleepers who should have been more sensitive towards exotic visions, the hole just got deeper and deeper as if Salmon's most famous achievement rested on the earth's inner core.
Many Sleepers scorned this digging because it started undermining the foundations of buildings that did exist. The Insomniacs, however, loved destroying to demonstrate that their history represented objectivity. They wrecked ornate constructions with gorgeous stained-glass windows built by Sleepers in the hope of finding stone fragments the size of babies' fingers that could establish that a kingdom had covered the world in which people had worn huge black hats and ebony coats that required fifty square metres of fabric to produce. No one doubted the Insomniacs' determination. Who else had such ambition without evidence? Such was their self-belief that they destroyed beauty trying to prove that their ideas represented empiricism without neurosis. So they toiled, hoping to demonstrate they were the masters of perception, Insomniac after Insomniac fleeing to the Hole of the Rock to enthuse the diggers who had built huts in the hole as living quarters to save time in their pursuit of fragments that could vindicate all.
Given that fantastic imagination is required to revere invisible buildings undetectable by archaeology, seeing Paris, Florence, Prague, Venice and Rome wasn't desirable because these places couldn't match the visions within. Why bother with the visible when greatness is attained just by visiting a hole? Think of the saving in time and money. Think of the practicality of getting euphoric kicks just by mumbling gibberish beside a manmade depression that yielded a rock whose importance surpassed all. What luck. The Sleepers had to work hard and save money to get a mere fraction of the kicks that imaginative beliefs endowed so freely upon the Insomniacs who only needed to rock at the Rock to extract bliss from insipidity.
Rocking at the Rock didn't just maintain easy euphoria; it re-established that knowledge was unnecessary. Who needs it when you're surrounded by lovers of arcane pronouncements? By mumbling incomprehensibly you got free gas and electricity and cheap land, not bad for donning fancy dress and raving. But sleeplessness induces mumbling. Hallucinations accumulated through sleeplessness must induce mumbling that fortunately was incomprehensible for being comprehensible can sometimes be thorny as we all know, especially with a big mouth and small ideas.
The other reward for mumbling and forehead bashing were women who believed your penis was Sod's creation and therefore that its desires had to be fulfilled without questioning. Female Insomniacs believed Insomnia penises glowed neon-style as if those instruments were made from the same material that composed the meteorite that Sod had fired into Sal's path. The term "woman" was excessive given that these creatures were baby-producing, penis receptacles whose function was to magnify the Insomnia population. Convinced that the power that charged their husbands' penises came from the lightning that shook the sky shortly before Sal's greatest achievement, they lay back imagining their connection with Sod. Insomnia children wore black hats and long, black coats from seven years of age, making playing football difficult, tubular follicles flying like wings in the wind.
To maintain group importance the Insomniacs ignored that their ideas about the past came from other groups that had existed before them as if the same vision was being passed on through generations, like a blade slicing up logic. What good was logic? It annihilated self-esteem. Imagine what would have happened to Insomniacs' sex life if their women had thought their husbands' penises weren't composed of the material that Sod had hurled for Salmon's use. Who needed that? What man doesn't want women to worship their instrument as if its sacred significance surpasses all comprehension?
Horrified by research the Insomniacs lost the ability to read, except material related to figures whose existences real historians couldn't understand. Non-Insomniac historians found it difficult accepting speculation; this made them so unpopular with Insomniacs that they faced death threats. How could they assume the mantle of truth when that mantle had already been given to beings who mumbled while head butting limestone? Most books didn't interest the Insomniacs, their special eyesight only enabling them to see blank pages when confronted by works that didn't raise creatures like Raverham and Salmon up to the heights of universal importance. What gave those meddling historians the right to question the unquestionable? When Insomniacs studied books that didn't glamorise Insomniac history they were blinded by light so bright that they only saw whiteness. No wonder they stopped reading things that didn't revere invisible buildings. The Insomniacs believed those dazzling-white pages blinded anybody who faced them. You even got the impression that for Insomniacs Sleepers' books only revealed pointless fluorescence as if Sod's heavenly rival had visited earth and had got shot by a gunslinger whose apparel bore an uncanny resemblance to the Insomniacs', the blinding light from the shotgun blast that ripped into Sod's rival reflecting what happened when Insomniacs touched Sleepers' books.
The Insomniacs, heading Sod's list of significance – well, that's what the Insomniacs said anyway – made speculation fact. Just by imagining gold, sixty-eight-storey buildings those buildings existed. The line separating speculation from fact in the minds of other groups didn't exist for the Insomniacs such was the Insomniacs' power of imaginative vision.
One day an Insomniac fell asleep as if unable to take flippant invention anymore. Why that man felt that knowledge may have been relevant was something he couldn't even explain himself as if verification through empiricism possessed an aura above anything transpiring in Insomnia. The poor man, whose mind had somehow developed that line that didn't exist in Insomniac consciousness, or lack of it, woke from his "trip into poetic reality" and questioned whether "a pink-faced fish could have built invisible constructions where hardly anybody had been." This man was a savage, according to Insomniacs, a repugnant tumour tarnishing Insomnia's glamorous surface.
When news of this man's savagery reached those prophet-like figures whose beards matched their coats' lengths, (sleep is impossible if you're beard is fifty feet long: you would die of follicle strangulation), the man was issued with a bratbar. Bratbar recipients were brats barred from Sod's kingdom. Roughly translated into English, bratbar meant: Let's kill that fucker.
When word of the bratbar reached the newly awakened man, who had amazingly discovered ideas that made sense, he escaped to where no one resembled "a weird gunslinger trapped in a time warp." He even saw movies where gunslingers wearing big hats shot each other for motives unconnected with literary figures, men who shamelessly killed for money. This liberation from hysterical ethics had for the awakened man a moral beauty that Insomnia rejected, despite Insomniacs promoting killing as a means of economic expansion. The awakened man had discovered sincerity. He opened books whose pages offered fascinating information that had previously been obliterated by Insomnia's special vision, the vision that created a frenetic, homogenous delusion of blinding lucidity. He churned through books with the same passion that had previously blinded him to the knowledge that such information could even exist causing his ideas to flow and change and develop. Women became individuals with unique ideas instead of penis receptacles who adored "the magic of the Insomniac wand." He heard things no Insomniac could believe. He even discovered evidence. That really hit him. But the biggest revelation was discovering that recondite speculation about Sod made the Sleepers think you're an idiot. And that was the most pleasant thing the Sleepers thought about Insomnia.
Some Sleepers wanted to put the Insomniacs into glass cages, eliminating Insomnia's influence over politics so that people could travel and work on Saturdays and even speak to people who didn't look like them rather than being restricted by those whose black hats could have been used as dunce's caps on road constructions.
The proliferating Insomniacs criminalised anything that follicle pipes, scraping along the ground, picked up, including valuable things unrelated to literary figures whose achievements surpassed anything done by those who had lived. The first Insomniac, Raverham, was even more revered than pink-faced Salmon. Raverham's Insomnia began when lightning struck him between the eyes; the energy imbibed kept him awake for decades before he ascended skywards, this ascension possibly an alien abduction. When that bolt struck its target the thoughts it put into Raverham's head awakened a humanitarianism that has yet to be instigated, especially by Insomniacs who ignored: Thou shalt not kill, the command given to Raverham by Sod. The bratbar recipient knew what a joke Thou Shalt Not Kill was.
"Because I started thinking," he said, "Sod's commands became irrelevant. And thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's wife? Any woman with nice tits and a big, round arse, who's bored with her husband, has got every right to be coveted by any guy she fancies. Just ask the guy."
Raverham came off the mountain where the lightning bolt had struck him between the eyes a new man, convinced he'd contacted the creator of all. No one who gets struck between the eyes by lightning and survives could think anything else. The fact that nobody can survive a lightning bolt between the eyes was irrelevant in the Insomniac appreciation of the past because for them the past had had different physical axioms that conveniently disappeared later.
Brimming with static electricity that induced a permanent erection, Raverham's dick glowing like neon, he impregnated women just by looking at them. These women's offspring never slept so charged were they by the electricity passed onto them by Raverham. To reduce the fluorescence that radiated off these children they were dressed in black coats; such was the radioactive power that Raverham had given his tribe that the instructions he believed he had received from Sod when being hit by lightning – that mysteriously got engraved onto a stone that no one has found – couldn't be touched without losing teeth and hair.
Raverham, who probably discovered uranium, could have been excused for believing he had found the world's most significant instructions because lightning to the forehead would certainly scramble most people's brains to the point where anything could be believed. However, given that many people who haven't been hit between the eyes by lightning are already capable of believing anything, you can imagine how advanced that lightning bolt must have made Raverham's already rich imagination.
And what was he doing at two thousand metres when climbing mountains didn't happen? His perception must have already have been surreal enough. And why did he choose a hot mountain nowhere near water? Dehydration may already have affected his perceptions. He must have been so demented through dehydration that he saw things never seen; add that to the effects of being hit by lightning, coupled with his already brilliant oratory, and he must have said and imagined things no ordinary goat herder could possibly have conceived.
Imagine the quantity of water Raverham would have had to have carried to have got to that mountain, let alone to have climbed it and then had made it back to an oasis. He clearly revolutionised water transportation. And how did he carry the food required to get to that rugged, remote, hostile, unpopulated place? The man had been a genius of survival.
News of Raverham's feat spread with a delirium that had only been matched by Raverham's condition when he had "returned from the sky" as one awestruck camel trader once claimed after some heavy pipe smoking beside a lagoon where good stories got told after hard days of buying and selling.
Those stories caused increasing sleeplessness, as if all dreaming had already been done, magnifying Insomnia that reached such astounding levels that it was ruled that no one could go shopping or catch a bus or a train on Saturdays given that this was the alleged day of the week that Raverham survived a million volts, a blast so vast that it caused a brilliance so pure that Raverham captured the essence of everything in a flash of perception that illuminated Insomnia belief like magic in a circus.
It is, however, known that electrically-charged objects lose potency through use; hence increasing numbers of Insomniacs started dosing off. Many started living where shopping transpired on Saturdays. Others discovered logic. Some had affairs with women whose hair was exposed because these women believed they weren't near radiation. Some smiled when recalling conversing with IT that had floated between Heaven and Earth. Others burnt the wood that had padded their foreheads, warming up winter nights. Increasing numbers learnt to read material that previously had flashed like atomic eruptions before vision that had repelled darkness.
Sleep created shorter hair and new perceptions of the past. Insomniacs who clung to their delirious conclusions referred to these new Sleepers as "bad Insomniacs" or "radicals." Bratbars proliferated. The New Sleepers remained unmoved, knowledge acquisition giving them a new method of achieving self-esteem without having to place themselves above others; this created communication with previously unacceptable groups, leading to humble views of personal worth, the Insomniacs still convinced they had been chosen for special treatment such was the beauty of the voices that chimed inside their heads as if their skulls had been shaped to enhance acoustics.
Many New Sleepers wrote fiction that didn't acknowledge Raverham and Salmon's sublimity, some becoming excellent salmon fishermen, one winning a Nobel Prize for Literature. Some of these contributors to artistic excellence even questioned Insomnia, their works being banned in Insomniaville whose people added to frenzied Insomnia ecstasy by convincing themselves they were living in a democracy, one that censured books and movies acclaimed in other places as works that represented reality, not surprising that "democratic" Insomnia engaged in stringent censorship given its history glamorised a hole whose resplendence surpassed Van Gogh's art and whose significance diminished the elegiac splendour of the Mona Lisa.
One ex-Insomniac wrote a book exposing Insomnia's recent history; by concentrating on facts the author received death threats, causing him to say: "He who speaketh the truth shall be sent to purgatory on the wings of tubular follicles."
When making that flippant remark, he couldn't control his hilarity.
"I've been bratbarred," he said, grinning, adding: "How dare they mock Sod's sacred instruction, Thou Shalt Not Kill."
He was alluding to ad-hoc modifications to Sod's commandments. An examination of Salmon's Rock using an electron microscope designed by an Insomniac revealed: Thou Shalt Not Kill. But Thou shalt murder. That helped the Insomniacs to exterminate undesirables. They took to this extermination with the same electrified vision that had led to the digging of the Hole of the Rock. Thousands of Sleepers got slaughtered in orgies of Sod-directed blood-letting. No one else had the right to live on land that Sod had promised to those whose minds buzzed with the feverish luminosity of faultless vision. Millions of fleeing Sleepers ended up in tents. Most Insomniacs believed that the fleeing Sleepers had sold their properties to have the pleasure of living in refugee camps.
But not all Insomniacs were so blinded by the effulgent clarity of irrefutable hallucination. Guilt infested itself into these Insomniacs' perception of their treatment of the Sleepers, making them dozy. Darkness caused by eyelids collapsing under the weight of amassing contrition made it obvious that lightning between the eyes kills instead of producing dazzling social philosophies that nobody can take seriously. This slow transformation towards sleepiness loosened Insomnia's grip on politics to the point where those Insomniacs who remained were rounded up and housed in special zones so that psychiatrists could increase their knowledge, and perhaps their bewilderment, of why people believe anything, cheap land, water and electricity helping you of course to lose your mind.
The rounding up didn't happen until 3864 when Insomnia got officially pronounced as dead, several women celebrating this release from blinding distraction by sleeping with hundreds men in a month, one charged with raping a man whose father had been the world's last Insomniac, the charges getting dropped after thousands of topless women wearing pink panties, the same colour as Salmon, gang-raped the magistrate who later said he had been "defenceless; and thank Sod for that."
A century after Insomnia's demise, a rock group called Sod & the Insomniacs got formed by a musician whose favourite late-twenty-first-century band had been Diana & The Arcadian Nymphs From Insomniaville. Zorbic Cladball, The Sod's lead singer, choose his group's name after discovering that humanity had once taken seriously "crude wallops of superstition that had made them think that NASA had been filled with morons incapable of realising that six million volts of electricity between the eyes leads to knowledge."
The group's biggest hit was The Lightning Bolt That Changed All. Many loved Fishy Architecture and the spell-binding, hypnotic Only Wide Eyes Can See. Lovers of heavy metal adored the pounding Bratbarred Into Belief while ballad admirers were fixated by the esoteric, mysteriously melodic Gripped by The Everlasting Dream.
In school curriculums Insomnia got included in courses on mythology and psychology, the late, great Raverham placed in the same category as Homer's Cyclops.

Kim Farleigh has worked for aid agencies in three conflicts: Kosovo, Iraq and Palestine. He takes risks to get the experience required for writing. He likes fine wine, art, photography and bullfighting, which probably explains why this Australian lives in Madrid. Although he wouldn't say no to living in a château in the French Alps. 101 of his stories have been accepted by 69 different magazines.