I haven’t slept for three days straight, and things are beginning to get strange. I keep hearing faint, disconcerting whispers from far-off places. Shadows dance across my peripheral vision, but when I turn to look at them there’s nothing there. A cursory glance at my clothes reveals the minutest of fibres magnified to the size of shoestrings. Worst of all is the toilet with its pulsating floor like a carpet of writhing maggots. Best not mention it to the others, I think; they’ll find out for themselves soon enough. For me, it’s already proving problematic. I’ve been uncontrollably excreting a perfectly clear and unusually odourless liquid at hourly intervals.
