Short Story, Theme Prompt, Writing Prompts

The Last Night

Nancy's Notes 🖊️♬

Written for Muse On Monday where David
has asked us to write a story about someone
who is afraid to go to sleep. Here’s my take.

Image by Me & Copilot

The clock on the wall in the corridor said 11:47. Albert hadn’t looked at it in twenty minutes, but somehow he knew. He’d been counting seconds without meaning to, the way a drowning man counts gasps.

He lay on his bunk with his eyes open, staring at a crack in the ceiling he’d memorized years ago. It split just above the light fixture, branched left, then stopped, like an unfinished song lyric.

Sleep was the enemy tonight.

He understood in a way he never had before what sleep really was. A surrender – a practice run for the permanent kind. If he closed his eyes and let the darkness take him, he would wake up to the last morning. The last breakfast tray. The last walk down the corridor. His mind understood this with a precision that felt almost mechanical, like a bomb that couldn’t be stopped.

So he stayed awake.

He thought about his mother’s kitchen – the smell of it on Saturday mornings, bacon frying, the radio humming. He thought about a dog he’d had as a boy, how it would sleep across his feet and he’d wake up with his legs gone numb and not mind at all. He thought about rain on a windshield, and the way his daughter used to trace the drops with her finger.

Small things. He was surprised how many there were.

Around 2 a.m. a guard passed, shoes soft on the concrete. Albert didn’t move. The guard paused at the window in the door …. he could feel it …. then moved on. A final act of sympathy, or just the rounds.

He pressed his hand flat against the wall. The concrete was cool and solid and indifferent. It would still be here tomorrow. Next year. Fifty years from now.

He held his hand in front of his face in the dark, just to feel it there.

Still here, he thought. Still here.

His eyelids began to feel heavy, like they were being pulled down by invisible weights. He felt betrayed. He was so unbearably tired.

NAR©2026

This is “Far From Home” by Five Finger Death Punch

Muse on Monday – March 23, 2026

Everything on The Elephant’s Trunk was created by me, unless otherwise indicated. Thanks for your consideration. NAR©2017-present.

32 thoughts on “The Last Night”

  1. Great story, Nancy, especially the emotional weight behind it. We had similar ideas with this one: both about prison, although mine was The First Night and yours was The Last Night. They make great bookend stories. 🙂

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          1. It is perfectly fine to have your readers guessing and questioning, as many great writers do that. I am more of an explainer trying to make sure that people understand me, but your style works great for you, so don’t change a thing.

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  11. Expertly written Nance – You have a gift for sensory grounding – showing how Albert is afraid with your words. It turns a ‘death row’ trope into a deeply personal, intimate character study – so good 🙌

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