Rory leaned back onto the wall, he was alone in the room, the room that was no longer steady, no longer a room attached to a building attached to the ground attached to the earth. The room was no a trampoline, on a gyro, slowly turning, groaning almost with the effort of a new movement and carrying Rory around with it. Rory felt the room move, the spin speed increase slowly. He tried to focus on a spot on the wall, on the water cooler, on a PC screen, on the carpet tile, but they all wee spinning, a fluid and unstuck, all at odds with each other, defying gravity and other natural laws.
Rory was going with the flow, standing still but now moving, transported like a leaf or a feather or a Pooh Sticks stick stuck in the currents. Rory held his ears, as if pressing on them would fix the problem, then he held his chest, as if breathing regularly would calm the spin. Then he held his tummy, his crotch. He bent over and held his knees. Then he stood straight, tall and gripped the wall with his palms, eyes closed, eyes peeking, eyes open. He was on the wall, like a fly on flypaper, stuck to the spinning wall. Like a wall of death without the bike or speed or centrifugal force. Travelling still but getting nowhere, that's Labyrinthitis for you. A chronic condition, a force of nature, Rory was caught.
He closed his eyes, he sucked up the dark, time was passing, time was travelling around him, here he was wherever, here he was going, deeper into himself. Deeper into the illness, further into the condition, into the lair of that dark insect bite itself where sleep is stolen, peace is shredded and pain and discomfort settle on each shoulder and hold a conversation across the top of your head. He heard a snort, he felt the animal sweat, he opened his eyes slowly, the disease gripped him, all over. Chronic and putrid, the fear came and manifested itself, here comes the night, here comes the beast. There are the yellow eyes, hungry as the ancient beasts and the wolves of the forrest. Half bull, half man, all wild exposed and real. Here is the Minotaur, here in the Labyrinth.
Rory awoke the next morning, he was hurting and his nose was twitching. “What's that smell?” he thought, “bullshit I guess.”