I woke up to the blaring of my irritated phone alarm with a groan. If the beeping was irritated, then I was aggravated. I unplugged my phone from its charger and got to my feet in a roll-like groggy stumble off of my mattress. Today was my first day of my part time job as an employee for my local concert venue, but the lure of hourly pay was not enough to negate the immediate frown anyone would produce after waking up at seven in the morning on a Saturday.
I slogged to my combined kitchen-parlor-dining room abomination only to find the confusing sight of a staircase positioned equidistant from my small flatscreen television and my puffy reclining chair. Overnight, a shoddy wooden staircase was constructed in the center of my primary room, but it defied any degree of logic. I live on the second floor of my apartment building.
But perhaps I was still quite groggy, as I had awoken from one of the strange dreams that we all know we’ve had, but somehow conveniently forget upon opening our eyes, with the only comment being “that was a weird dream.” Yes, I thought. My brain is simply still focused on a strange dream. The stairs are not there, and most certainly the functions in my head are not either.
In one impulsive step, I confidently attempted to debunk my self-produced illusion by lifting my leg and firmly planting it down on what appeared to be the first lower step. It was to my own astonishment that my hubris-driven step of logic became unbalanced as my foot descended further than my precise eyes had expected, causing me to tumble on my butt down the small staircase and into the concluding white wooden door.
What just a few seconds ago appeared to be an illusion conceived by my mind suddenly was validated into a definitive construct of my own reality, despite its illogical implications. Does this staircase extend into the apartment below? Perhaps the tenant below woke up to find a rectangular column in their living room. Is it possible that this unknown tenant had the same reaction as my own? Did this tenant initially consider the perception of such an anomaly to be nothing more than a groggy illusion like I did myself? Is it unreasonable to further assume that such a conclusion would be disproven upon observing the simple forehead-to-wall-contact experiment?
If this staircase descended into the territory of my downstairs tenant, then perhaps the door leads to there as well. From my understanding that my planned trespassing onto foreign territory could be explained away due to the perplexing nature of such a structure, I opened the door and cautiously stepped forward.
After linking the passageway of my own apartment to the unknown, I initially felt great comfort in the room past the door, which shared a similar appearance to my own apartment. As I stepped in, however, I came to a horrifying realization, as this was not similar to my apartment, but was instead an exact replica of my own. I turned to find that the now-shut door was positioned equidistant to my television and my reclining chair. Was this a continuation of the strange dream I had experienced when I was asleep? Am I still asleep?
The contemplation of such questions drove me into a panic, and I ran back to the dividing door and attempted to twist the handle, only to find that it wouldn’t budge. First I tried pounding, and then I tried kicking the door, only to find that the flimsy wood now felt similar to cement. I even tried yanking the sliding-glass door to my balcony only to find that it had a similar condition to the door. In an act of desperation, I slammed a hammer onto all of the windows in this purgatory-like implementation of my apartment, only to find a similar outcome. I was trapped.
I am posting this story as a cry for help. I am thankful that I can still use the internet and that I have access to an exact copy of all of my possessions, but no matter how loud I scream, it appears that no one can hear me. I am tortured by the sight of people through my windows, who appear to be frolicking in the nearby park while I am trapped in my custom-designed prison. If anyone sees this, I am begging for any suggestions on how to escape such a hell. The contents of my refrigerator are dwindling, and my internal anguish is becoming more difficult to suppress through the overconsumption of television. If I try any new ideas or have follow up comments, I will make sure to post an update.
Of course, that’s assuming I don’t go insane first.