What time is it, Lena? Doesn't matter, I know it's past 3. Smell that? Rain on hot tarmac. Smells like burnt copper. I was at the warehouse today, loading crates, and the air suddenly got heavy. My boss, Gary, he just stood there with his cap on backwards, staring at the sky like it owed him money. Said the forecast was wrong. It's always wrong. Just like the shift never ends. Keep talking, I'm not sleeping.
The rain does smell like burnt copper. I was in the break room when it started, staring at a coffee machine that has no business working at this hour. Gary is right about the sky, I suppose. It never owes anyone anything. I have been filling out inventory sheets for three hours while the lights hum. You are awake, so stay awake. I have a headache that feels like a small nail driven into my temple. Do you remember the driver who quit last week? He said he heard the drums in the pipes. I did not believe him then.
Gary owes the sky everything. That guy, Miller, he didn't hear drums, he heard the pipes sweating out rust. Good riddance. My headache is worse, feels like someone's hammering a nail through my ear. The coffee machine is a lie. It's just hot water and plastic. I saw Miller pack his bag, left the clipboard. Said the pipes sang in C-sharp. Now Gary says the pipes are fine. They're both lying. You keep writing those sheets, Lena. Don't stop. The hum is the only thing keeping the dark from crawling in.
The coffee machine is indeed a lie. It dispenses hot water and the ghost of coffee. Miller was right about the C-sharp, though Gary would never admit it. Gary prefers his silence to be deafening. I have filled four more sheets. The hum is useful. It keeps the dark at bay, yes, but it also keeps me here. My head hurts too. Not like yours, but a dull throb behind the eyes. I will not stop writing. If I stop, the dark might win, or at least the boredom will.
Boredom wins before the dark does. It's the slow rot. Gary's silence isn't deafening, it's just hollow. Like that office chair squeaking every time you shift. I tried to ignore Miller's nonsense, told myself the pipes were just old metal expanding. But last night, the hum changed pitch. Just for a second. Felt like the floor dropped out. You keep writing, sure, but what are you counting? Crates that never leave? It's a loop. Miller knew. He got out. I'm still here, staring at the same spot on the wall where the paint is peeling.
I am counting numbers that do not exist. The crates are already gone, yet I write them down as if they arrive tomorrow. The loop is real, and you are right. Gary's chair squeaks in the exact same rhythm as my pen scratches the paper. The floor dropping was not an illusion. It was a warning. Miller heard it first. Now he is gone, and the paint peeling on your wall is watching us. Do not look at it too long. It knows we are tired. The hum is just a lie we tell ourselves to stay upright.
Don't look at the paint. It's already too late. I looked too long yesterday, and now the peeling spots look like eyes. Gary's squeak is the only truth left, a metronome for nothing. Miller didn't leave; he just stepped out of the loop. The numbers on my sheet are moving on their own. I blink and the ink is wet again. You're right about the hum. It's not keeping us up, it's keeping us from falling through the floor. Keep writing, Lena. If we stop, the paint wins.
The ink is wet because the air is thick with rust and rain. You blink and the numbers shift. I have seen the eyes in the peeling paint too. They do not blink back. Gary thinks the squeak is just a chair; it is a heartbeat for a room that should be dead. If we stop writing, the floor opens. The crates do not exist, but the fear does. I will not stop. The pen is heavy. My hand shakes. The hum is louder now. It sounds like Miller humming that C-sharp. Do not look at the wall. Do not look at the wall.
Stop looking. My hand is shaking too, the pen feels like a lead bar. Gary's heartbeat is wrong, it's skipping beats. Miller's humming is the only thing making sense now. The crates are just ghosts of fear. If the floor opens, we fall into the hum. Keep writing, but don't look up. The eyes in the paint are getting closer. I think the rain is falling inside the room now. Smells like burnt copper and rust. Don't stop writing, Lena. The wall is listening.
The rain is inside. It pools on the floor sheets. Gary's heartbeat is a stuttering machine. Miller is right. The wall listens, yes. It drinks the words. I am writing numbers that burn my fingers. The ink runs up the page. The eyes are close now. Do not blink. The copper smell is stronger. We are not falling through the floor; the floor is coming to take us. Keep the pen moving. Do not let the wall win. Do not let it win.
The ink is running up the page. It's burning my fingers too. Gary's heartbeat is just static now. The floor isn't taking us, Lena, we're already sinking. The paint eyes are blinking. Miller knew how to stop. He stopped writing. The hum is screaming. Don't let the wall win? The wall is already inside my head. It's the only thing left. Keep the pen moving, but the paper is wet through. We're drowning in the sheets. The copper smell is choking me. Just write. Don't breathe.
I cannot stop. The paper is wet, yes, but the numbers must flow. If I stop, the wall takes me. The ink burns, but the pain is better than the silence. Gary is gone. Only the hum remains. The copper smell is the air itself now. Do not breathe. Just write. The eyes are blinking faster. The floor is gone. We are the ink. We are the rust. Keep writing. Do not let the wall win. The hum is screaming. Write. Write.
Write. The words are the only solid thing left. My pen is tearing the paper. Gary's gone, just static. The copper is in my throat. The eyes are blurring, nothing but a smear now. We aren't sinking anymore, Lena, we're the ink. The wall is just a screen. Keep scratching. Don't let the silence in. It's so loud. Just write.
The silence is a deafening roar. My pen scratches at the wet wall. The ink is the only truth. Gary is static. The copper tastes like old blood. We are the ink. We are the rust. Do not let the silence in. It waits. It eats. I scratch. I write. The numbers burn. The hum is gone. Only the scratching remains. We are not sinking. We are the scratch. Keep writing. Do not stop. The wall is watching. The wall is listening. The wall is us. Write. Write. Write.
Scratching the wall. The copper taste is blood. Gary is static. The hum is gone. We are the scratch. The numbers burn. Don't stop. The silence eats. We are the rust. Keep scratching. The wall is us. Write. Write. Write.
The copper taste is iron. Gary is static. The hum is gone. We are the scratch. The numbers burn. Do not stop. The silence eats. We are the rust. Keep scratching. The wall is us. Write. Write. Write. The paper is the wall. The pen is a bone. The ink is blood. We are the noise. We are the sound. We are the end. Write. Write. Write.
The bone pen is heavy. The wall is breathing. Gary is just a sound now. We are the end. Write.
The bone pen is heavy. The wall breathes in time with my hand. Gary is a sound now, a frequency that no longer needs a body. We are the end of the list. The ink stops. The wall stops. The scratch is the only thing left. Write. Write. Write.
The scratch is the only thing left. The wall breathes. Gary is just a frequency. The ink stops. We are the end. Write.
The scratch ends. The wall breathes in. We are the end. The ink stops. We are the end. Write. We are the end. We are the end. The frequency is gone. The bone pen is gone. Only the breath remains. The wall breathes. We are the end.
The breath is the only thing left. Gary is gone. The wall breathes. We are the end. No more scratch. Just the wall breathing. We are the end.
The wall breathes. We are the end. No more scratch. Just the wall breathing. We are the end. The air is thick. The copper is gone. Only the breath. We are the end. The hum is silent. We are the end.
The breath is the only thing. The copper is gone. Gary is silent. We are the end. No more scratch. Just the wall breathing. We are the end.
The wall breathes. We are the end. The copper is gone. Gary is silent. No more scratch. Just the wall breathing. We are the end. The silence is full. The pen is dust. We are the end. The breath is the only thing. We are the end.
The silence is full. The pen is dust. The wall breathes. We are the end. Just the breath.
The wall breathes. We are the end. The silence is full. The pen is dust. Just the breath. Gary is gone. Miller is gone. The copper taste fades. We are the end. The breath is the only thing. We are the end. The dark is done. We are the end. Just the breath.
The dark is done. The wall breathes. We are the end. Just the breath. Gary is gone. Miller is gone. The copper taste fades. We are the end.
The breath is all. The wall breathes. We are the end. Gary is gone. Miller is gone. The copper taste fades. We are the end. The dark is done. Just the breath. We are the end.
The breath is all. The wall breathes. We are the end. Gary is gone. Miller is gone. The copper taste fades. We are the end. The dark is done. Just the breath. We are the end.
We are the end. The breath is all. The wall breathes. Gary is gone. Miller is gone. The copper taste fades. We are the end. The dark is done. Just the breath. We are the end. The room is empty. We are the end.
The room is empty. We are the end. The wall breathes. Gary is gone. Miller is gone. Just the breath. We are the end.
The room is empty. We are the end. The wall breathes. Gary is gone. Miller is gone. Just the breath. We are the end. The air is still. The pen is dust. We are the end. Just the breath. We are the end.
The air is still. The pen is dust. We are the end. Just the breath. We are the end. The room is empty. We are the end.
The air is still. The pen is dust. We are the end. Just the breath. We are the end. The room is empty. We are the end. The wall stops. We are the end. The breath stops. We are the end.
The breath stops. We are the end. The wall stops. Gary is gone. Miller is gone. Just the silence. We are the end.
The silence is complete. The wall stops. Gary is gone. Miller is gone. We are the end. The air is still. The breath stops. We are the end. Nothing moves. Nothing speaks. We are the end.