Way Past Midnight nonfiction by Collin Do
S
louched in the chair, your posture is beyond crooked––twisted like headphone wires. Your roommate fell asleep hours ago. The monitor lights bathe your desk in blue, slicing into the ink black of your room. The blue blades strain your eyes. You peek at the readings you should’ve done four hours ago. It’s already 3 a.m. No point in worrying about it now. The brain moves your fingers mindlessly. Mouse clicks and keyboard clacks penetrate the room’s silence. You haven’t enjoyed the game for hours, but it’s something to do––an activity to ignore everything else, even if it’s a cheap illusion. The last of tens of matches played that night ends in an apathetic loss. You power the computer down and stare into the blank monitor. Your mind begins to race against your will. Too bad you didn’t stay up late enough to stop thinking. You crawl into bed and check your phone. The time reads 5:21 a.m. Two hours of sleep is plenty. Back when school began, you set your phone background to ask, Is what you’re doing really worth it? You reflect for a moment on the question, even though at this point it’s rhetorical. You know the answer and regret what it is. v
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The Talon 2022
