XXVIII

Why of all the dark rooms in existence am I in this one, why couldn’t it be your typical dark room with a sliver of light peaking out from beneath a door. For all I know this room doesn’t even have a door. Craziness of course, it must have a door, right? How else would I have gotten in here. Must find the door.

There’s that elevator sound again. This time joined by what sounds like faint muffled voices. Distant voices.

I decide to work my way left away from the drawers, feeling slowly along the base of the wall desperately hoping to stub my fingers on a door frame. There is nothing immediately next to the drawers, I must have moved three or four metres along the wall by now – I wonder how big this room is, hard to tell in the dark.

  1. XXXIV
  2. Brief dreams of other places, other faces. The where and when I’d rather be. The things I’d be doing and how I’d be doing them. Routine, constants, the avoidance of change that I see no personal benefit in. The chasing of happiness and the fear of failure that prevents me. I’m asleep, but conscious that […]

  3. VII
  4. As the elevator ground to a halt the doors slid open behind them. It had been so dark when they entered they hadn’t noticed the alternate set of doors. Stepping out into a barely lit corridor the doors swiftly shut behind them, about 20 metres ahead of them a corner that hid an occasional flicker. […]

  5. XXIX
  6. Eyes still aren’t adjusting. Odd or not, I can’t decide. 11:43. That was a long five minutes. Wait, what was that? A door? Different to the noise earlier. Closer. Or am I imagining things. I need to find a way out. Reaching a corner, I at least know that the wall doesn’t extend forever, still […]

  7. IV
  8. Their nightly routine was always the same. “Sam, it’s time to go to sleep, lights out…”, “But Mum,” he protested, “I don’t like the darkness, I’m afraid of the monster in the closet”, It was always the same reason, like a recording being played back repetitively for comedic effect. The response of Sam’s mother too […]

  9. XXVII
  10. Shuffling slowly towards the clock, the floor is smooth, consistent. Vinyl tiles maybe? Confirms one thing, I’m not at home – nothing but carpet and cold, hard tiles there. Oh how I wish I could feel my carpet underneath me right now. The clock is sitting atop what feels like a small wooden chest of […]