Once upon a time, there was a girl who, for various reasons, lost all her senses; that is, except for one: her sense of smell. She dared not move herself on account of her sensing, for given her one sense, she was sure of only one spot. So the opportunistic wind held her nose at its beckon call, and she followed it willingly; though she had little choice in the matter. The wind was the only truth that she was able to follow, as it was the only movement delivered her smell. It was from this sense that she knew the world, as it briskly emerged, and it was how she knew herself within it. That is until the day the wind grew bored and stopped, and all she could smell was herself, and herself alone; still, immobile. She had grown so used to being moved by the wind that when left to her own devices she collapsed, unable to hold herself up by mere stench. And when she fell from the spot by which the world emerged, she lost her last sense, and slipped into a void of confusion. Though this confusion surrounded her, cloaked her naked self in some sort of substance, she could not sense this either. And given that reason must contain some sense, the irrational became all that she knew. And so it made no sense to her that she had no sense. Others sensed her. Others sensed her being as a fact of matter. Yet for them, she could make no sense at all. And there was nothing they could do about it, and she no longer had the sense to care besides.
Copyright Keli Birchfield 2015