(A story that I need to improve, but needed to put down before I forgot it. I know the grammar is bad, and there's probably a few typos- but I'd appreciate any ratings.)
Andrew couldn’t sleep, no matter how much he tossed and turned or read or meditated he just couldn’t sleep. He’d stayed up watching late night/early morning TV, and had almost been swayed into buying some sort of SuperTool with extra attachments until he realised he’d never use it. He’d tried every technique he could remember reading about: deep breathing and visualisation, mathematics and even counting sheep, but in the end he gave up trying, and just decided to wait, just wait patiently until his eyes couldn’t stay open any longer, and his brain finally switched off and brought dreams of happier times, times when Nick was still around.
His thoughts were becoming jumbled, as insomnia- driven thoughts tended to do, and Andrew found himself desperately trying to remember the theme to Fame. That then led to a dragged up memory of leg warmers, and Andrew wondered if Nick had ever worn legwarmers. Chances were that the Goth boy had a pair of black, skull patterned ones stored away somewhere. Andrew hated thinking about Nick, especially at night when the double bed felt even bigger and emptier than Andrew could remember it ever feeling before. It was during these sorts of thoughts that tears would fall down Andrew’s face, marking his face and dampening the duvet. Andrew just wanted to die, thinking of every way he could do it- as he did every night- and then dismissing each one as Andrew thought of the pain he would have to suffer, although compared to the pain of losing Nick then slit wrists were probably not too bad. “I’m too scared to die,