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

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

pickleball court. Even if I had forgotten the room number I still knew I rented

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?