A shade of dementia - an ongoing scifi project

It is my understanding that the colour of madness is in direct proportion to the weather, the hotter it gets, the scarcer sanity becomes. I believe it was the Lord Paul Auster that indirectly said that your favorite story can teach you everything you need to know about reality or the ways of creating one.

It was the same measures of hope versus sanity that led Lenard to write on everything he saw in his home. When he ran out of papers to write on, life in the micro-cosmos of Lenard remained as they were. No letter missed on any furniture, walls or ceilings, even on his own skin. It seemed like the insane thing to do, but everything had a methodical grip to reality.

42 steps from the decaying wallpaper above the door's entrance, was Lenard's shower, no water has graced it in years, and on its walls on the 32nd tile of the 3rd row were tiny letters only comprehensible to Lenard himself. At this exact moment Lenard was currently writing the following half-truth:

Within the perpetual drone of pain a truth is hidden, its mechanisms are obvious to every child with a scraped knee, a soldier with a wounded gut, mothers in labor: Pain operates on a definitive frequency, effectively annihilating all other life forms in the galaxy throughout the duration of its transmission. The most human Earthling alive has won said title by constantly blocking all thoughts and connotations concerning anyone but himself. After all, it is quite human to be selfish and quite selfish to be human. We are as we are, after all.