[ WP ] Due to a massive epidemic thanks to the rather peculiar Somnia virus , everybody now can only stay awake for half an hour per day . That is , except for one . This is the story of the last insomniac .

A planetary orgy of gluttony and sex rolls around the Earth as the Sun rises. It only lasts thirty minutes, but, from what I hear, that seems to enough for most people. At least for the people who are left. That is, except for me. I don ’ t sleep. 
 
 Ten months ago, an epidemic swept the planet. It was not fatal. Well, not right away. It was called the Somnia virus, and its only symptom was that the infected slept their life away. Well almost, there was a brief period of consciousness right after the Sun came up every morning. 
 
 Most people use this precious time consuming calories to keep their bodies running for another twenty-four hours, like humming birds. Many fulfill the other natural desire our bodies crave. Some do both at once, which I am sure makes for some Bacchus like scenes at the government feeding stations. 
 
 It sounded like a frat boy ’ s wet dream, but we all soon found out what a nightmare it could become. People on life support were the first to die off. Those poor souls that needed around the clock care were next. They were followed by anybody that needed an operation or had a manageable disease. I guess it is hard to cut out a brain tumor in thirty minutes. Ask my mother; oh that ’ s right, you cant. 
 
 If I sound jaded and full of despair, I am. I was just a stupid college kid, majoring in P.E., at the University when the first waves hit. Why I never caught it, I have no idea. A natural immunity I guess. I don ’ t know much about viruses and medicine and stuff like that. Which kind of sucks considering I ’ m the only person left to find a cure. 
 
 I have no idea how the virus spreads, or where it came from. The few antivirals I can find don ’ t seem to help much. I injected the woman next door with a cocktail of them that I found in a hospital. She did manage to stay awake for 45 minutes before returning to the same pattern as everyone else. I don ’ t even know what that means. 
 
 I have access to all the government labs, every book on the subject of Virology, and all the time in the world. However, I lack the knowledge and the skill to put it into practice. I write down everything I try, and I leave notes for the doctors and scientists. Sometimes they have time to write something back. Sometimes it is a list of things to do. Sometimes it is a formula that I don ’ t understand. Sometimes it is just a note that says thank you. 
 
 I find a lot of dead people. The smell is pretty bad sometimes. Dogs don ’ t seem to be affected; they eat well. The most disturbing deaths are not the suicides; it ’ s the women that die in childbirth. That doesn ’ t seem to stop the fucking though. Everyone is human. Even I have fallen victim to my own primal urges. I have, in my desperation, wandered around and had my way with several sleeping women. I ’ m not proud of it. It happens. 
 
 I wonder what kind of god would put the fate of the world in the hands of a rapist jock with Insomnia. I would ask a priest or a rabbi if I could find one. I guess they are all fucking and eating like everyone else. 
 
 I am only writing this because I want you to understand. When you wake up, I want you to understand what it is like, and why I had to take your wife. I need test subjects. The doctors have outlined an experiment and your apartment was the closest. I am sorry. I will bring her back, when we are done. She may be the first ever cured, and even if she is not, I will bring her back to you. 
 
 I promise. 

