Three in the morning. My sense of sanity has slipped from any actual functioning parts of my brain. The walls are sliding and grinding triggering a constant rush of thunderous brain activity. Shifting my body slightly to face the wall, an ice chill rushes over the entire room. Both my imagination and creativity become my greatest enemy. Wide-eyed, I watch as beads of sweaty condensation fill the entirety of the black smooth wall. I turn my head and follow the infestation as it climbs higher and envelopes the ceiling as well. A single, evil smile of sweat heavily disconnects from its breeding post, swirling, crimson in midair slowly falling, and landing ironically on the center of my forehead, completely dry in an exploding burst of chill.