Hellish Paradise

I. The Bed

This might be my favorite part of the room. It’s slim and white but miraculously sturdy. Even when I jumped on it as hard as I could, frantically almost, it never broke. I don’t know if I’m disappointed or not. Maybe it could have given me a reason to go out. I don’t think the door would’ve cared though. They haven’t been on good terms since I scratched the frame trying to fit the planks in.

I think the mattress is dented because I only sleep on the right side. I could sleep on the left or turn the mattress around to balance it but there’s something comforting about slipping into the covers and feeling my body mold perfectly to the top. Sometimes I get the urge to rip out the feathers with my bare hand and watch them flutter in drifts of snowy white. Except I’m pretty sure mattresses these days are made of foam and wool and tufts.

The pillows? Let’s not talk about them. I have a sneaking suspicion they’re trying to take a bite of my head but ha, jokes on them! Insomnia’s a b———.

II. The Closet

When I bought the room, I made sure the closet was big enough to hold all my clothes. Last time I checked, the trend had been belts and pastels. It wasn't not really my style but the younger generation lapped it up. I don’t really understand them. I’ll stick with my blacks and browns any day, thank you very much.

That reminds me, Claude told me the other day that I looked like a grizzly bear. I told him he looked like a hyperactive rainbow. Honestly, who pairs holographic jackets with well, anything really? I should really call him. I think the last time we talked was… my head hurts. I wish I had a medicine cabinet in here. It’s a good thing my building has a chute system installed. I just have to fill out a request sheet and stick it in the slot in the wall then whoosh! It slides out of the tube and deposits neatly in the box. It doesn’t really work for food though which sucks. I miss pasta.

These days I’ve been hearing a scraping sound coming from the closet. I threw all my clothes out to check if there was an animal in there but I found nothing. I stuck my ear against the wall (it was cold) but it sounded like it was coming from everywhere. It must be the neighbor. At least, I think? I can’t be the only one here, right?

III. The Bookshelf

Sometimes I ship books to my room. It can get boring when you’re in here all day. They float through the door and trust me, I’ve tried sticking my hand out at the same time, but it never works. I don’t know why I try. I mean, isn’t this what I paid for in the first place?

Anyways, the books arrive in cute little packages wrapped in brown paper topped off with a bit of white string. Whenever I tug on the bow, I try to draw it out as long as I can. Watching the bow slowly collapse is therapeutic. 

After I take the books out (World History for Dummies, My Life in the Wild, Glory and Malice), I place them on my shelf. They fit perfectly with my other copies, all snug in their plastic shrink. Once in a while I’ll take one out and debate ripping one open and reading it but then I remember they can slice open my fingertips. I think I’ve amassed more than a hundred books by now. I’m lucky my bookshelf is large. I know Claude’s is tiny but he never reads anyways.

The bookshelf rumbles from time to time but it isn’t like the closet. It’s been happening for months and months. I tried pushing it once but it didn’t budge. Then I tried taking out my books first but it still didn’t move. I was hoping to find a secret passage but I guess not… 

IV. The Desk

All my desk has is a pencil, my pad of request slips, and an embedded screen. If you swipe up on the screen, it opens a virtual interface that flashes in front of you. I programmed my wallpaper to be a field of tulips, back when they were rows of red and orange and yellow. Now they’re just brittle and brown. I’m happy I’m in here or else I would’ve turned out just like them.

I tried calling Claude but he didn’t answer. I hope he’s okay. I should’ve paid for another room or brought him to live with me. 

My pencil broke. I wonder how I’m supposed to write requests now. My headaches have been getting worse and I’ve just been staring at the ceiling for hours everyday. I tried to stop myself from thinking but I just can’t help but wonder who runs this place and if I can go out.

I just heard an alert. I checked and it was Claude. He’s alive! I could barely see the text through my tears. My dear friend. I was thinking of what I would respond with (How are you? Where’ve you been? Do you still have that jacket?) but then I read the rest and froze. 

He wrote: We’re coming to save you.

V. The Mirror

I thought about Claude’s message all day and night. It just doesn’t add up. My thoughts too. Do I want him to come? Do I want to stay? Can I even go? 

I tried looking in the mirror for answers. I usually cover it because it whispers bad things. This time it was quiet, probably because I was too shocked with my reflection. I looked terrible. I guess no food does that to a person but I thought the pills would work just as well. I grabbed the bottle and read the label: Safe and Healthy Meal Replacement! Promotes silky hair and strong nails. I scoffed. Looked like false advertisement existed even in this hell.

… I meant paradise. Don’t look at me like that please. Your eyes are too haunting. 

VI. The Chair

The scraping and the rumbling are driving me mad. Add in the sound of the chute and I might just stab that broken pencil into my ears. I’ve been letting the pill bottles pile up. I can’t bring myself to stomach them. It must be why when I sat in the chair, it sent me a warning. The chair is what helps me with my bodily processes and cleans me and all that. I knew I should've paid extra for the bathroom attachment but I wasn’t making too much as a clerk. I finally gave in and slit open a book to read while I was sitting but the words swam and I gave up. At least my bookshelf looks nice, all those rows of red and orange and yellow.

I hope Claude comes soon.

VII. The Lamp

When it gets too dark at night, I turn on the lamp. It casts the room a warm shade of white but it also stretches the shadows. I usually throw the pillows at them. This time, I tried something different and threw the pillows in my closet. The scraping stopped for a bit then continued. If this is Claude’s way of saving me, I might just throttle him. It’s been months since the message and I want answers. The screen is no help. It only worsens my headaches.

I finally gulped down some pills. They tasted chalky with a tinge of sweetness.

VIII. The Calendar

I’ve reached the last page of my calendar. It became a daily ritual to just cross off squares every time the date on the screen changed with a ping! Each month is decorated with a fluffy kitten staring at me with wide, beady eyes. It’ll be a year soon, a year from when I first arrived in this room.

The scraping is even louder now. At least the rumblings stopped. I plugged the chute with the pill bottles and I think it got the message. 

IX. The Window

I’m starting to think I imagined Claude but then I see the message. It was sent so long ago but rescue events take time I suppose. I gave up on sleep entirely. I think the window has become my favorite place instead. It’s just a pane of glass placed in front of another interface but it looks so real. I’ve watched lakes, meadows, mountaintops, even the bottom of the ocean. It never shows any cities though. I flipped through all my books and though the words won’t cooperate, the pictures are clear. In frustration, I ripped out all their spines and now their corpses scatter my room.

Throwing them at the window doesn’t break the glass at all. I made it a game- one point if you hit that tree, five if you hit the moon. I know it won’t do anything. Then why do I feel as though if I just crack the glass, I can escape into the screen?

X. The Nightstand

Nothing special about it. I wonder if a daystand exists.

XI. The Photos

They slipped out of the closet the other day. It’s really creeping me out, how it seems alive 

They look like polaroids, heavily flashed images placed in a thick white border. I didn’t look at them and immediately flipped them over. I had a feeling I wouldn’t like what they would show.

The dates were written on the back in slanted letters. It wasn’t in my hand. I did a quick calculation and it seems like they were taken just a few days before I moved in this room. Sure enough, at the bottom of one, it read Celebrating moving day! I tried to get myself to throw them away but my hand slowly turned the photos over. 

I ended up being even more confused than before. Maybe the last object in my room would answer my questions.

XII. The Human

I was always annoyed that I was never informed I would have a roommate. It was a good thing it never did anything. It just slouched on the left side of the bed. I couldn’t even tell the gender and after a while, I assumed it was fake. I left it alone for ages.

Until now. I poked its cheek (elastic, cold) and a tuft of colorless hair drifted down. Not that it had much to begin with. The strands would’ve piled up but I ended up feeding them to the bed so it wouldn’t eat me instead. Guess I’m running out of hair.

It was dressed in shapeless grey clothes and its limbs sprawled everywhere. Its mouth gaped slightly open and I could see a hint of white. I crouched down and looked up at its face. I wanted to confirm my suspicions and I fell down, shocked. I saw slivers of green dulling in a jelly of white. The same color as the ones of the person in the photo. 

I grabbed the pictures again. My hands were shaking. The pictures were a series of selfies. The person on the left wore a shiny jacket and obnoxious glasses. The person on the right was draped with red hair. I can just make out a building and boxes and planks sticking out behind their backs. They were laughing with each other, so ignorant, so blissful. Even in the flash, it was vivid. Brown eyes meeting green. Or was it green eyes meeting brown? My vision blurred.

The scraping grew louder, frantic. I ignored it as I pulled myself up and staggered to the human. It lolled peacefully. I grabbed its shoulders and shook it frantically. Who are you? I screamed. Tell me! How do I get out of here? Something cracked and I caught a glimpse of white splinters. I heaved but nothing came up. It looked the same shade as my room. Exhausted, I sank to the floor but the noise was still stabbing into my mind. I lurched to the bed, my favorite part of my room. I fell into the right side and muffled the covers over my ears. I tried to stop myself but I reached out to the human. I slipped my arms around it and squeezed my eyes shut, like if I tried hard enough, I could blink myself into nonexistence. 

I hear a ding. I guess Claude isn’t coming.