The sound of the tennis ball crashing into the back fence created a satisfying crack in the early morning. Michael was unsure how long he’d been out there; hours, perhaps. Before the sun, he knew.

He hadn’t been able to sleep. For hours, he tossed, turned, trying to find a comfortable position – nothing worked. He crawled out of his bed that morning and threw on his tennis outfit.

Now, he was breathing softly. He was so tired his head was hurting, a dull pain in his temples lingering – but he knew he couldn’t sleep. It was a different kind of tired. Not one that came from overexertion or lack of sleep; it was a tiredness that would seep into his bones and refuse to leave. He bounced the ball against the ground, twisting the racket in his hand.