Probably my favorite original story so far. I had been trying to come up with a story for a while, and as the stresses of my undergrad life at Penn State built up, I decided I'd write a story about how a real scientist would likely go mad: not as an evil genius, but losing his way. But I really wasn't sure what to do with the idea. Then, one afternoon, the entire story formed in my head, beginning to end, word for word. I wrote it down in a soundproofed music room as quickly as I could, about 20 minutes. A very interesting experience, one I've never experienced before or since. So here are the fruits of a stressed student's mind:

     A grain of sand, falling, tumbling, dancing its way onto the pile. Barely finding a molecule of air to hinder its downward plunge.
     Contact.
     A few grains move aside to allow room at the top for the newcomer. But no major slide, not yet.

     Another falls, spinning, out of control. Its path is different from the last, despite all precautions.

     Here's another. Click. Hiss. The grain at the top pushes aside the peak of the tiny pile of sand. These microscopic boulders bound down the side of this ever-evolving mountain, occasionally knocking others from their formerly stable homes. A major avalanche.
     Strange. I should have been able to predict this better. The one grain that causes the slide of all the rest.
     But I guess that's the way it is with chaos.

     Every grain is unique, an individual, even though we go to such extremes to make each event alike. Slow down the rate to one grain every minute, just to make sure it's all stable.
     Amazing how the senses can be so heightened when just staring like this. Every single grain of sand has a unique shape, with faces and crags and points like any full-size mountain. And they all go into memory, with their landing site and temporary resting place all built up in the cells of my mind. Every grain lands with its personal click, causing its own slide. It's wonderful, it's beautiful, it's...
     It's... One grain per minute?
          Click.
     It's 3 in the morning?
     I've got to get home.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

     Strange, this is how I see the world. Not with all the cars and people everywhere, but so still. As if no one had ever lived here. The crispness in the air. The sky open above, with infinity laid out before me. And every infrequent sound like thunder in my ears.
     This is my world.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

     Climb into bed. I mustn't wake her. My mind is over-active even here. Figured out exactly how to get into bed but moving it as little as possible.
     Good night, dear.
     But why? I'll just be awake for another few hours. How can I sleep? The images of my life, my world swirl around me at impossible speed. Everything I'm looking for, just out of my grasp. Except in that moment immediately before sleep sets in, when conscious and subconscious are one and body is nothing. There are all the answers. But I can't force it to start, and I can't make it stay. It's lost, like a ghost you're never sure you saw.
     I explore every facet, every detail of everything. Even my own mind. Are there some things man was not meant to know? I plunge inward, ever further. Should I know myself so well? Is this madness? But I'm drawn to it. Knowledge. By my insatiable curiosity.

     Every grain is an individual. I know you. Speak with me. I know. Let's go....

     *****************************************************************
     ********g*****n******t****and a shadow*****from behind my eyes......
     How can I see?
     I can't.
     What a wonderful dream.
     But I've got to get up. A full day ahead.... My mind is mud. I need some coffee.


     * * * * * * * * * * * * *
     "Good morning, dear."
     "When did you get in last night?"
     "Oh... Ah... [Why can't I remember] About three?"
     "What can you be doing in there, all that time?"
     "It's work, it's study, it's...."
          ....
     Strange, I know she's talking, but I can't really feel her words, or act. Ever the observer. I even observe my own life without living it.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * *

     Hello again. I know you. Every grain an individual. Come, let's talk. Give me your secrets.

     This is my world. Forevermore.
     The lone grain that starts the avalanche.