The Sleeper

Now would be the ideal time. Mark had long been trying to cultivate a form of selective narcolepsy, he remembered reading about car crash victims, and how you’re more likely to survive if you’re asleep. Not being tense, being unprepared was apparently the best preparation. Face your problems while unconscious, it sounded great.

A long time ago, while he was still at junior school, a doctor had said his behavioural problems exhibited what could be a mild form of autism. Mark often reminded himself of this, that his lack of empathy might be why he struggled to laugh as loud as the others in the pub, why the kettle took hours to boil while there was somebody else in the kitchen. Those awkward moments when he passed his boss by the toilet door. Secretly however, he thought he actually had a pretty good grasp of people. If you say X to person A then, depending on their mood they will do either J or K. If they do K and you say Y they will… and so on. An ever expanding web of possibilities that with careful consideration can be navigated to the required conclusion.

He looked up from his knotted fingers. Mr Crowle was still talking. Mark forced his eyelids to droop slightly, his shoulders relaxed, a warm wave ran up his neck.