The doctors don’t know why this has happened, but they say they’ve seen the sense of smell return after two or three years. I feel and hear the air traveling smoothly into my nasal passages, but that journey has no scent accompanying it. I walk around and begin sniffing things in the flat, curiously burrowing my nose inside shoes, coffee beans, vinegar, my coughing housemate’s armpits. The flat descends into chaos as my friends alternate between hanging their heads out of the window for air or running out of my flat entirely. I, however, am not bothered by the moth spray, just as I wasn’t bothered by the scent of onions. But that friend is busy coughing-in fact, all my friends are now coughing, covering their noses and mouths, burying their faces in my sofa or their clothes. I’m so scared of ‘em I can’t even bear to deal with their dead bodies, so I ask my friend to pick up the corpse with some kitchen paper and dispose of it. I spray the ray of light until the moth is dead on the floor. I’ve always hated them, so of course I have moth-killer spray on hand. Their erratic, unpredictable movements get me the hell anxious-I hate them. Moths disturb me, my peace and my flow, with their incessant fluttering. Cue a moth now dancing around the projector light, interrupting the visual perfection of Stranger Things. One night back in 2018, my friends complained that the smell of the onions I was chopping was too strong and opened up the window. I like TV, I like making burritos and I like my friends, so sometimes I combine all three by inviting friends over to make burritos and watch telly on my projector. I will do what I’m best at: tell stories, in the hope that you’ll be able to connect the dots, find threads to tie together. Thank you so much for picking up this book and peeling back the first page to discover its contents.

Michaela coel book misfits