i recal slipping further into the doorway, forgetting my self, the room i was in as well as the one that would follow. just a soft incoherent jumble of white noise combined with an inaudible scream that seemed to lack origin. a warm scent of sickly pine and sweet smoke fused in a nauseating aroma that challenges the stomach not to retch and recoil/ a lesser man would have been sick, and better men should, but this day, no meal would resurface in response to such an affront to the nervous system. instead, like fingernails clawing the pavement on the slow drag to the furnace, i resisted, swallowing my fears and what little breakfast i had not yet convinced my stomach to pass along.