For want of sleep

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. So, what’s the point? Why waste all that precious oxygen screaming when no one can hear it? I inhale deeply and let it out with an audible sigh, then I turn away from the window and walk back to my bunk.

As I settle back under the thin sheet of my narrow bunk, I hear the deep breathing of my roommate, Sarai, across from me. How does she do it? She falls asleep quickly and soundly while I toss and turn, plagued with insomnia and the constant stream of uncontrolled thoughts, plans, worries, and predominantly random nonsense.

For four hours of this sleep cycle, I have tried to meditate into somnolence but to no avail! I drank the herbal tea Sarai recommends, “Ancient recipe my grandmama makes herself! That will surely knock you out”. The only effect I feel is the urgent discomfort of a full bladder that has forced me to get up and use the lavatory four times now.

Yesterday, Fergus, our lead astrobotanist, had a meltdown in the lab and had to be physically restrained and sedated before they could move him to MedBay. It turns out he hadn’t been sleeping, either. Sleep deprivation psychosis, Doc Jordan called it, when Captain Mundip called a meeting in the Mess to inform the crew of Fergus’ status. Doc told us to report to MedBay if we could not sleep for over three consecutive cycles. Looking around the table, the red eyes, slouched postures, and generally unkempt appearances told me that many of the crew were suffering from a lack of sleep, like Fergus. Like me.

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I must have fallen asleep. My alarm is gently but insistently ushering me into wakefulness. It looks like I got about two hours of sleep – not enough, but I’ll take it. A quick cool shower will help wake me enough to have breakfast and report for duty.

The mood in the Mess was tense as I walked through the entrance. Something dire has happened. I search the faces of the crew seated at the tables eating or attempting to eat their nutrient-dense meals. “What?” I ask and wince at the raw sound of my own voice. “Is it Fergus?” No one would meet my gaze; they just looked at each other in unhappy, furtive glances. “Well, fuck”. I walk to the food dispensers, grab a tray, and serve myself a large mug of hot black coffee and a bowl of yogurt and granola. I sit at the nearest table with an empty seat and blurt, “Jesus Christ, just tell me already.” I’m not angry, just so goddamned tired.

“Not Fergus,” replied Mikaela, our nurse/nutritionist/counsellor, “Fergus is still sedated and restrained. Someone else had trouble sleeping. It’s Kale.” Kale is our chief engineer and a virtuoso guitarist. Everyone loves Kale.

“What happened to Kale? Did they have a psychotic break, too?” I’m hysterical, I can hear it in my voice, but I can’t stop. “What the hell is going on here? I haven’t had a decent sleep for two weeks, I can’t shut my brain off, and then Fergus and now Kale – “

“Kale is dead.” That stops me, and my mouth gapes. Mikaela is still talking, I see her mouth moving, but there’s a ringing in my ears, and the room starts to spin. Then I’m on my feet so abruptly that I knock my tray off the table, sending my breakfast flying over the floor. I’m next. I’m going to die. I am dying of sleeplessness. My vision fades to black, and the ringing sound that fills my head changes to high-pitched laughing and screaming. Someone is screaming, someone stops –

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say.