Preface: this is a banal post that you should probably dismiss.

Do you know that one poem that Edgar Alan Poe wrote when he was going crazy over a noise? Yes, that’s been me for the past half hour. I was ready to get into bed at an insomnia-approved hour when this squeaking noise began.

At first I thought it was at the head of the bed. Then I realized it was coming from the foot of my bed. The thing (whatever it is) sounded so unbelievably distressed. I tried to get over my fear of rodents and envisioned the trapped mouse slowly succumbing to rib cage trauma. So I shifted my bed. Nothing, still squealing.

My eyes traveled to my snack-bag which lay at the foot of my bed. What if the Squeaker is trapped in there? I quickly stuffed my brown paper bag of snacks with a pink shirt and threw it on a chair. It serves me right that I have Thing stuck in my Doritos bag because I’m conventionally gross and I eat in my room. I was wrong. There was nothing in the bag, and the noise continued on and on into the night.

On and on and on.

In frustration I thought to myself: out of this entire day this creature chooses to suffer loudly right before bed time. I have to overcome my fear of Mickey Mouse and actively locate it. I need to set it free and relieve both our misery. So here I am, staring at the crack between my bed and my wall, listening to the squawking.

When I exhausted all possible options I looked up to the sky, as if my brain subconsciously began thinking outside of the box. It won.

Do you know who the cursed being who kept squeaking turned out to be? FCKING Jung Kook and Namjoon. Rather, it was their combined two pictures which I hung on my wall. I decidedly looked up to observe the movement of the pictures against my window, to test my theory. I dismantled their pictures, and the squeaking stopped.

In conclusion, there was no trapped mammal in my room. It was just BTS pictures swaying against the wind. I can’t remember how that Edgar Alan Poem ended. Was the incessant noise a heart beating under the bed? Or was it the clock noise as it tiks through time? Did he go mad? I think he went crazy because I remember he was about to tear up the place, almost like I did.

To emphasize: the noise culprit was simply the pictures scratching against my plastic-bag insulated window. I know, it’s the most ghetto part about my room. There’s so much ghetto in this story. I’m writing about it anyway. My blog, my rules.

So whatever noise drove Mr. Poe crazy pales in comparison to my fake plastic Nam-Jung mouse. (Aka their pictures flailing in the air and scratching against my plastic bag window). Namjoon and Jung Kook. Both of them: my tell-tale heart.

The poem’s title is where the comparison ends. Unlike Mr. Poe I didn’t un-alive anyone. It wasn’t my guilt that was creating auditory madness.

It was the wind. In the end it was the wind.

Class dismissed.