You wake up. In complete silence.
You enjoy the smell that hits your nostrils as you stir to consciousness.
Your eyes become accustomed to the pitch darkness of your small room, peering around, fatigue still gripping you.
But then you realize, as you fully come to your senses, that this has happened three times tonight.
Three dozen times a week, and a further three dozen a month, you think to yourself. You feel foolish, idiotic, impotent. Why can’t you ever sleep? Your mind is forever going, from a low hum to a chaotic, noise-ridden pulse of energy. You suppose it might be the smell.
It can’t be, though, can it? You know that the smell makes you happy, and you know that what makes you happy should make your mind happy, right?
But it doesn’t.
And you find that the more you smell, the more your mind hurts, and the less sleep you get. And the less sleep you get, the more of the smell you need. Perhaps eternal slumber would help you, you think to yourself.
The humming in your head is no longer just in your head; it’s real now. It’s in the closet across from you, a faint buzzing, forever present.
You can no longer block it out, louder and louder, permeating your eardrums, a death knell to your senses.
You can no longer take it.
You stand up, agitated. The closet is looming in the darkness, the bane of your existence.
You step forward, wrenching those doors open.
The buzzing hits an all-time high, as flies exit in all directions, you cover your face from the pests. Crimson red and rot, covered in white plastic, are strewn about the closet floor, and the smell, oh, the smell…
That glorious, ever-present smell, invades the senses; you need more, the smell demands more.
The intoxicating rot, mind-numbing stench. Mind focused, mission set.
And so, you shower, you dress, you style, and you sharpen.
You must create more, the stench calls, corrupts, begs…
Why couldn’t you just sleep?