My Tuesdays are nondescript. I wake, I shit, I eat, I sleep. Perhaps there is
more, sometimes there is more, but usually it follows as suit. I cannot say my
life is boring because I chose this lifestyle, this lonely excess, and to admit
it as so would be to admit myself as boring. And I would hate to think of
myself as such. Even if it may be true.
I am just a man who lives his day as if he has a million more. There is nothing
more to it and nothing less. I keep a few bottles of cheap wine for when death
honks his nasty horn and calls me over for a ride because drunk and dead and
lonely seemed to be the best of best combinations.
But this Tuesday was special and I couldn''t find any words for it. It was as if
I had woken up from a long nap and found that my days are truly numbered; in
the tens perhaps or ones even. I couldn''t describe it but I can assure you that
it was wonderful, this feeling, like rain on a hot day, like freshly baked
goods, like a first kiss. By noon I had cleaned the whole apartment, washed the
dishes and made myself a plate of pesto with some music playing in the
background. I made plans to exercise: to go on a little run, and maybe schedule
some time to see a few friends...
Then I woke up.
The ceiling was white and my bed sheets were white (so that I can bleach them
whenever) and I was white with anger. Woke up? It was all a dream? It clawed at
me. Waking up. I was happy, perhaps; happier, certainly. And it seemed like I
could finally take a step and live some. And it just took it away from me, my
dream. This waking up was trying to kill me.
I wanted to cry, to scream, to destroy what this waking had brought me into but
I just couldn''t do it. I didn''t have the strength. So I stared at the ceiling
hoping it would open its maws and swallow me whole.
But then there was a sudden knock on the door. Two hard raps: bang bang. Then
silence. And another two: BANG BANG.
I stood up and closed the door to my room. They will leave for sure and I was
in no mood to entertain some stranger.
BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG.
It was a mail carrier. A fucking mail carrier with a large box that needed a
signature. I smiled (I am great at smiling) at the mail carrier as they held
out a pad, "Unit 1799? Sign here please."
"This is 6013." I said. This mail carrier. This fucking ugly piece of
disgusting horse shit with a nose like a hippo''s and ears of an elephant''s ass
whose every breath should be taken and given to some serial murderer whom would
deserve it more. I smiled.
They pointed to the room number next to the door, "This is 1799." And they
laughed as if they discovered the funniest thing ever.
I looked and carved next to the door were the numbers 1799. So I signed the
form. I took the box in and then I told the mail carrier to have a great day
and smiled at them as they left.
The door closed and I stared into the peep hole at the long hallway and at the
other doors lining it. I had rented 6013. I know I had. It was the only room on
the sixth floor left at the time. There was a pool on the sixth floor and a
pickleball court. Even if I had forgotten the room number I still knew I rented
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.on the sixth floor. 6013. It was 6013. It had to be 6013. I opened the door and
stepped out into the hallway and faced my door. 1799. Carved and inked. Black.
Next to the door. Chest height. 1799.
My chest heaved and I felt something crawl up my throat. I went back in and
shut the door. Lock, unlock. I went out; where are my keys? Lock, unlock, lock,
unlock, lock, unlock. I sat down and I dry heaved onto the floor. Nothing came
up.
There is something wrong. Something horribly, horribly wrong. I ran to the
glass-sliding door and swung open the blinds and And backed away in horror. Was
I still on the sixth floor? I could not tell. But this was surely not my room.
No it shouldn''t be anyone''s room. A brick wall covered the entire face of my
window. The bedroom windows were the same. The same.
It wasn''t right. This is my room but it wasn''t my room number. Some dumb kid
must have done something or perhaps it was a reality show and that motherfucker
mail carrier is laughing their head off. No, it is more than not right. Chills
laced my spine and I leaped outside into the hallway and stood in front of those
numbers. 1799. 1799. 1799.
I backed away from the door and started walking down the hallway. 1700. 1701. 1702. 1703. 1704. 1705. 1706. 1707. 1708. 1709. 1710... Where is the hallway
to the elevator? The stairs? No, I''m on the first floor. 1711. 1712. 1713.
1714. 1715. Where is the lobby then? The receptionists? Please. This is a
dream. It had to be a dream. There is no other explanation. 1716. 1717. 1718.
1719. 1720. 1721. 1722. 1723.
I stopped. There were no more rooms. This hallway was just these room. There
were no other exit. No hallway to the lobby or the elevators or the stairs. No
fire exit, no other doors than these few room.
The mail carrier..?
I can''t. I can''t. This. This. This. A dream. It is a dream. It had to be a
dream. I had woken up in a dream. Certainly this is a dream. I will wake up.
Soon.
Then I heard the door behind me swing open and I turned my head. I shouldn''t
have; no, it was stupid of me. Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid... Never
should''ve looked. Looking never should''ve looked. I tried to scream but nothing
came out.
I saw my hands, my feet, my arms, my legs, my thighs, my torso, my chest, my
neck, my mouth, my nose, my ears, my eyes. My eyes. My eyes. My eyes. My eyes.
Those eyes. Those eyes. What about eyes? My eyes widen. Eyes. How can I see
without eyes? But my those my eyes like eyes some eyes eyes eyes eyes. So I
took my fingers eyes eyes eyes eyes. Eyes eyes eyes eyes and sharp eyes and my
nails were long and eyes. There was a pop like the bursting of a bubble. Or
two. And I felt myself fall.
I woke up again (was I awake?) to darkness (my eyes?).
I couldn''t see. I couldn''t see. My eyes were open but I couldn''t see. Was this
even my room? I couldn''t tell. Everything was dark. My eyes. What happened to
my eyes? I gingerly touched where they should be and felt nothing. My eyes. My
eyes. MY EYES. MY EYES. MY EYES!
my eyes. where. please. oh god. please. why. me. my eyes. i can''t see i can''t
see i can''t see. my eyes.
please.
my eyes.
where are they?
please.
please.
please.
someone save me.
But no one answered.
No one cared.
And who could blame them?