As her pod accelerated, she tried to relax and enjoy the steadily increasing weight of her limbs. Slow and even breaths were best to make the transition. Since childhood, she had always recited the alphabet slowly, one breath per letter. It usually worked. Soon she skimmed the crests of hypnagogic waves straddling the delicate line between controlled and released consciousness.

She started to hear laughter, for millennia only possible in the digital realm, and felt the heaviness of her body intermittently dissipate. Others beckoned, robotic creatures, not beautiful but clean, predictable, and nonviolent. They were no one she knew, but provided a familiar and comforting presence nonetheless. She entered a sterile though not unpleasant world. Over time she had learned to function, even thrive, here sometimes traveling to the far reaches of space and back before returning each day to the hellish reality on earth.

But her pod faltered, and the light and laughter evaporated. What was wrong this time? Her pod felt too cool, her feet were numb. She began her abecedarian countdown again and near E experienced the delight of lift off again. She blacked out, not an uncommon occurrence, but instead of waking in the digital slumber she sought, she found herself back on earth sometime later counting without any conscious thoughts stringing time together. Her trials and failures continued, for how long, she had no idea.

She finally relented, pulled her face shield off, and looked over her shoulder at her outdated device. Its red digital numbers flickered 6:04 am. Her eyes felt dry, as if they hadn't closed at all and the dark circles under them ached.

Her head lolled to the left. Streaks of light crept from beneath the heavy vinyl blinds, highlighting the irregularities in the brown crumbling wall. From within it came the noise of the rats. They had already retreated from the heat of the day, likely already over 120 degrees Fahrenheit. She hauled her skeletal legs over the edge of the bed and pushed herself up. Before she could stand she swapped her sleep mask for her ambulatory oxygen tank.

It was time to head to the mines fueled only by the thick dark liquid she consumed to remain upright and coherent. Drinking it was no longer enough, she hooked a bag to the permanent catheter implanted in her upper arm and pushed all 300mL in at once.

She needed to earn enough soon to buy a new device before the digital insomnia killed her.