So, I’ve added a new section to my site, called Short stories. And yes, you guessed it. I’ll be publishing my shorter stories in it, just as well as in my regular blog-flow. The point is that if you read something you like and want to read it again or share it with a friend, it’ll be easier to find than if it’s only published in the genereal flow. Where there migh be loads of other things that’s not worth as much of your time. Or perhaps it is, but you know.
If you don’t feel like clicking the menu and switching to short stories, just continue reading and you’ll read the first of my short stories – Waking up…
I wake up in a strange room. I’m certain this isn’t the room I went to sleep in, and it most definitely ain’t home. The confusion is mind-numbing and I feel a sudden pressure over my chest, making it painful to breathe – as if someone placed a rock on top of me.
Gasping for air I look around, trying to find my bearings. The bed has a cold metal frame and across the room is a wooden desk, a stool and a stuffed chair – in which I see my clothes neatly folded. The walls are bare and only a window with closed blinds break off from the faded yellowish white wallpaper.
I swing my legs out of bed and wince when my feet hit the cold tile floor. I shift my weight and force my muscles to get me upright. My head feels heavy and I get dizzy standing up. I’m dressed in an unfamiliar nightshirt, buttoned all the way in front. It’s soft and feel well used, but I can’t recall where I’ve got it from – I usually sleep naked or in a pair of sweatpants.
Crossing the floor to get dressed in my own clothes, I feel stiff and slow, and my thoughts are muddled. Kind of like syrup, or as if I’ve been on a major drinking binge. Is that it?
Dressed in my own shirt and trousers I open the blinds and look out the window. I’m high up, at least six stories, and down below I spot trees surrounding some kind of open square. Across the square is another tall building, but nothing giving any indication of where the hell I am. I get annoyed by my slow thoughts; it’s like swimming in mud. My fists are clenched around the windowsill and I forcefully take a couple of deep breaths to try and clear some of the frustration and fog out of my head.
Another glance around the room gives me a strange feeling of familiarity, even though I’m sure I’ve never been here before. Shouldn’t there be another bed and a plastic room divider? I cannot tell why there should be, the room is too small for it, but it just feels like it. Concentrating on the room divider I hear the word ‘sex’ ringing somewhere in the deep of my head. No, not sex – six!
Looking around the room now lit by the morning sun, I see an opening leading to some kind of vestibule. On the wall is a ceramic sink with old plumbing and a wooden closet containing my duffel bag and belongings. The vestibule has two ominous gray doors. Grabbing my bag, I chose the left door and find myself in a dimly lit corridor stretching to the left, ending with a window and a lounge set underneath a window, and to the right, ending with a gate of steel and reinforced glass. The gate leading to the stairwell, I somehow remember. Past the lounge set the other way I reckon there’s a caged in balcony with a view of a deserted building next to the railway – I ain’t seen a single train however.
The realization makes me lightheaded again. Why do I know this, how long have I been here?
Halfway down the corridor is an open door, with light sifting out. It looks just like the door I came from, like any other lining the corridor, but it’s the only place I can go. Somehow I know that the other doors are locked. Again, I feel the intense pressure over my chest, and getting closer to the door I feel afraid. I can’t say why.
Through the door I enter an office with two other doors leading to the adjacent rooms. The walls and floor are tiled and two wooden desks support old humming computers. A bearded man in white scrubs sits in front of one of them. He seems surprised when he notices me, and says something in a language I don’t understand. As he stands up he says something else, followed by my name. How does he know it? Should I know who he is?
My head is spinning by the time he reaches me, and I can’t help but to think that I ought to understand what he’s saying. The language sounds familiar, yet it makes no sense to me; however, his tone is soothing and he actually manages to make me feel safe again. I let him guide me back to the room from which I came. He stuffs my duffel bag back into the closet and proceeds to open the other door in the vestibule. Behind it is a bathroom, and I shake my head in response to what I suppose was a question if I needed the facilities. Instead he shows me back to the bed and waits as I lie down.
“Godnatt,” he says as he leaves the room. To be certain he doesn’t return, I remain on the bed for a few minutes before I get back up to the window.
Nothing new with the view. Yet, there’s something very wrong with this picture….