To Be or Not to Be
By H. Chan
Sleep never came. The warm drowsiness never washed over him, and Winston sat
wide awake with his eyes closed. It was a futile attempt--chronic insomnia proved
merciless--yet he attempted the unknown, forgotten process of sleep. O’Harrington, his
company psychiatrist, had already provided him with thirty syringes of Somnus for the
month of September, but he had injected all of it in the first night. Despite the overdose,
Winston had slept only an hour that night. This was the third consecutive day that he had
stayed overnight at his office in Synthiosis, finishing papers that weren't due for two
months. Winston clicked on the cerise neurogram plastered on his temple. Last edited, he
thought-published. Projected on Winston's frontal lobe was the first paragraph of his
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