The Corridor of my Subconscious - Door 11

Alone i stand on the path at the edge of the drive.

Under the orange light of a street lamp shaded partly by a winter tree, the leafs have long sense faded away, the moon is full and high there is a spattering of clouds, its close to freezing the frost is thick on the ground and the steam is thick as i breath, i wrap my coat tight to my body and hug myself for warmth, i take what could be the last look at that house, we had good times in that house, shame...

Still, i can't stop thinking about what just happened, i turn to the right and walk slowly down the poorly lit street looking down at the uneven path in front of me as my shadow over takes me again and again, images and random words keep popping into my mind, didn't think i of all people would be like that.

I don't hate them, its just not in me to hate, we were supposed to meet up in a pub at some future date, guess that ain't happening, not that it matters now anyway.

This walk isn't very long but its cold, i pick up the pace a bit, knew i should of bought the bigger coat but didn't think it was going to get this cold, i should of washed my hands and face before leaving, my hands are sticking to the inside of my pockets, i can see the alleyway i have to walk through to get to my bus stop, but looking the way i do right now I'm not sure that the bus driver would let me on, he might call the police though.

I hate this alleyway i have to walk through it every time i make this trip, its dark because the local kids have broken all the lights, it smells like piss and vomit because its dark and no one can see them pissing and vomiting, they piss because they drink booze and the vomit because they drink to much booze, they usually congregate at the other end, a large group of them, all in their hoodies, holding bottles of Vodka, acting like rappers, dare you make eye contact with them, all they need is the small opportunity to start something with you, but don't hold your head low, look strait ahead and don't show them that your scared, they're animals after all, they can smell fear, hold your head up high and just walk through them, ignore what they say and just keep moving, although i have to say that tonight i don't feel the anxiety i used to, as i enter the outer limits of the alleyway the smell of piss, which would melt the face of a lesser man, is incredibly strong, i look down at my feet as i walk, i don't want to step in a fresh puddle of sick,

I can't hear the youths talking, usually i can hear them before i even get near the alleyway, maybe they went to get more booze, lucky me,

Almost halfway and the smell is getting stronger, what is that dog or human shit, i move past the mystery turd and continue through the darkness.

Wait a minute, i just noticed something out of the corner of my eye it looked like something was shining for a second, i stop walking and look back, apart from the orange light in the street at the end of the alleyway, i can't see anything, i take a few step back the way i came and there it is again, something is reflecting the light, i move in for a closer look, its a number, the number 11 made from glass attached to the brickwork of the alleyway.

Voices, oh great the red hand gang are back, and it sounds like they have a few more bottles of Vodka, but for right now they can't see me, good thing to, because I'm not in any mood to be fucked with and i don't need to be getting in any more trouble then i already am.

I move closer to the glass number, odd that it would be here, maybe they put it here, but why.

A dizzy feeling comes over me, my head starts to spin, i stagger back hitting the wall on the other side hard, letting out a gasp of air, still the dizziness has me, the youths have heard me, they are calling for who ever is hiding in the dark, the dizziness is to much, I'm starting to see stars, tiny points of light streaming across my eyes, all moving to the centre of my vision, more and more of them, my sight is almost completely white, the youths are moving in, heading this way, i drop to one knee, desperately trying to hold on, then i hear it "Oi you drunk bastard", all is quiet.

Brilliant flash of light.

Silents.

I come to, laying on a sodden wood floor, where am i,

A mirror is standing in front of me, the smell is of stagnant water, In the mirrors reflection my face is clean, i continue to look at my reflection as i stand up, slowly, i take a step back and relies that its not a mirror at all but a door, with a glass door nob and glass hinges,

My head is still light, where am i?

Where did the youths go?

Why is there a door made from a mirror with glass fixings in the middle of.......

As i look around me i come to relies that i'm no longer in the alleyway, but a corridor, i look to the right and see a blue door with, i think there brass fixings and to my left a red door i think, it seems to be charred, guess those youths must of torched it and scribed the number 47 into the wood work with a knife, great now they have knives, wait, how did i get here, did the youths bring me here.

I can't stop looking at the mirrored door but if i try my head starts to hurt, a throbbing at the base of my skull, i reach for the glass door nob and turn it anti-clock wise, the door pops open pushing away from my hand, i stand looking at my reflection in the mirrored door, why is my face clean and my hands too, i don't understand, i look down at my hands, holding them out to get a better look, there still covered in it, my reflective counterpart is doing the same, but his hands are clean, i unzip my coat and hold it open, looking to myself in the mirrored door its like i'll been to a dry cleaners, looking down at myself I'm still covered with it, this is weird, very very weird.

I like to think that I'm a cool headed kind of guy, okay i make rash discussions from time to time, but who doesn't, but right now i can't believe what my eyes are telling me, i know the truth of my current situation but the mirrored door is showing me something else, but why and how, i just don't get it, i move around like some comedy sketch show trying to catch my counterpart out, right hand, left hand, right leg, left leg, i walk off to the left and back to the right, i hop on one feet then quickly change to the other, i spin around and hold up 7 fingers, he does the same.

The most unsettling thing though, is that when i look myself in the eye it doesn't feel right, its like another person is looking back from behind a piece of glass, i move in closer to check the finer details of my own face and the closer i get the more i want to go through that door, up until tonight my self control was epic, i could stand abuse till the cow came home, why can't i stop this feeling of opening that door.

Ahhhhhhhhhhgggggggggggggggg

I step away from it turn my head so i can't see it, then i walk away, just a short distance, what is this place, i'm looking at another door, this one is made of tree bark with a 17 made from wood, as i approach it insects scatter, for a second there it looked like the door was alive, almost breathing, i look back towards door 11, then to the door in front of me, door 17, i have no erg to open this one, I'm feeling no compulsion to go through this door, i grab the wooden door nob and turn it anti-clockwise, a click, just like the other door, but it doesn't open, why isn't it opening, its unlocked isn't it, i feel it again, i need to go through door 11, its the only way out of this place i know it, but how do i know that, i've never been here before, slowly i move back to door 11, my reflection stares back, clean, i hold out my hand and push the door open, slowly, as the door opens it reveals a room, wait is that our living room.

I'm standing in the middle of our living room, but it can't be i was just in a dingy corridor a moment ago and now I'm standing in the middle of our living room, the mirror above the fire place shows me the same way the mirrored door did, clean and un-spattered, why am i back here, it looks the same as when i left 5 minutes ago, i wonder if she's still up stairs, wait of course she is, she ain't just going to get up a walk out, but still i should check, i look around the room, hoping that something is different, like if someone had come down to clean the place, and then maybe i could believe that earlier was only a bad dream and this is real, that some how i feel asleep and what happened was a dream and the walk back the alleyway the corridor all of it was some disturbed nightmare, to my left is a door that will take me to the hall, to my right is the dinning room and then the kitchen,

The dinning room is nothing special nothing of consequence happened in there, i continue to the kitchen, my mug is still next to the kettle, i feel it, its warm, my mug still has the tea bag and sugars in it, the cutting board, where i was making my sandwich before it happened, the stick of French bread is open and buttered, just waiting for me to finish cutting the fillers, turkey, wheres the turkey, the mayonnaise is here and the cheddar sliced and ready to eat, i look for the turkey, i know i had some, i removed the last of the turkey from the packet and then i throw the empty packaging away, i look towards the bin, the Turkey was in my hand when it started, i look down, there it is, at my feet, a few strips of turkey, i bend down and pick them up, place them in the French bread on top of the cheese and add the mayo, i then place the top half of the french bread on to the finished sandwich, i looks great, smells better, but this is where it started and i can't stay here, the door to my left takes me into the hall, standing in the hall/kitchen door way I'm looking at the front door, the orange from the street lamps, the foot of the stairs is just feet from me, i walk over to the bottom step and look up into the dark, slowly, careful not to let the steps creak i ascend, blood, half way up, just a drop but its clearly blood, the light is off as i reach the top and turn around to my right and stand looking at our bedroom door, red finger prints and more drops of blood, why did this happen, i stand in front of the bedroom door, now i remember what's behind it, did i block the memory, oh god i hope she's okay, unlike the mirrored door i have no erg to open this one, in fact i really don't what to, i can't see her looking that way, helpless, and its all my fault, why did i do it, why did i ruin what we had, I'm doomed to failure, we had a good thing going here and i ruined it, she just lashed out at me, i cover my right forearm, its not her fault really, i messed up, i messed up big time, i reach out with my right arm to open the bedroom door, thats when i notice the trickle of blood, i stand for a moment looking at it, i pull back the sleeve of my jacket and there's a cut, not very deep, across my forearm, she took the knife off me, i was slicing the cheese for my sandwich and she came down stairs and took the knife from my hands knocking the turkey slices to the floor, she cut me, thats when i chased her up stairs, into this bedroom, then it happened, the blood on the stairs was mine, the red finger prints, the finger span matches mine, i open the door, a faint sound of sobbing, she's still here, the door is open but I'm finding it hard to walk through, one step at a time, as i move very slowly into the room i see her, sitting on the floor, her arms covered with blood, she has a hand over her mouth and her eyes are red she's been crying, she's just sitting there her other arm is wrapped around her middle, the knife is laying on the floor in front of her, i step closer, i can't see anyone else, well of course not we were the only two here and i left, but why would i leave her in this state, covered with blood, i move over to her and quietly say her name, "Bethany", she doesn't look at me, she hates me, but then after what i did I'm not surprised, sleeping with her best-friend wasn't the smartest thing i've ever done, i still can't understand why i did it, i never felt anything for her before so why then,

4 weeks ago, Bethany was heading out of town and her sister Gracie was going to stay over, we watch television, this isn't the first time we've spent time together alone, i don't know what came over us, it was like we were drugged, we were like animals, we tore each others clothes off and just did it, on the cold floor of the living room it was the best sex i ever had and am ever likely to have, afterwards we just went to bed, i slept in my and Bethany's bed and Gracie slept in the spare room, the next morning it was as if it never happened, yeah i bet everyone who has ever cheated and got court has said the same damn thing, "I wasn't why self" "It didn't mean anything" trust me they don't want to hear that, I'm trying to remember what happened 4 weeks ago that would make me do that, i love Bethany and would never wish to hurt her, but that day was nothing special, work the same as always, few beers after, i remember some joker left a hugh oil spoil on the pavement outside the pub which it get a good laugh after i stepped in it, came home ate dinner watched a little television, she loves them soaps, she has to watch her stories, and i let her without complaining because i love her, then we go up to bed, she goes on that Facebook and i went downstairs to make a sandwich, wait, Facebook, i look to the bed and there is her laptop, still on and still in facebook i move in to take a closer look, a message from Gracie, telling Beth that we slept together and that she's pregnant with my child, i hang my head down, my hands on my knees for support, i fill dizzy again, i turn back to bethany and tell her again that I'm sorry, she isn't listening to me, she's just staring away, i reach forward with my left hand to place it on her shoulder, it passes through her, what the hell, i stand up in shock, what the fuck, i try again same, my hand just passes through her, what's going on i crouch down in front of her and shout her name but she doesn't even flinch, a warm wet filling fills my stomach, i stand up and look down at myself, I'm covered in blood, my hands are now soaked in my blood, i tear open my shirt and see to my horror that i have several dozen slits in my chest and stomach, i look back at Bethany, she's not staring away in shock she's looking at something, i move around the bed to see what it is,

Its me, I'm dead, laying on my back my right arm over my chest the blood is still flowing out like a ribbon of water from tap my eyes are still open, i stagger backwards and out of the bedroom floating almost, unsure of what is happening to me, down the stairs and out the front door into the orange light, again, i stagger back down the street towards the alleyway that i hate so much, which i have to do almost every day to get to work, into the alley and i see the youths all gathered around something, there is someone on the floor, wait thats where i fell, i move in for a closer look, wait thats not me thats just some drunk fresh out of the pub, to my right i see out of the corner of my eye, the glass number eleven, the door slowly comes into view and opens, almost inviting me in, i move, slowly, labored the blood is still running down my front, this time the room is gone, its just darkness,

I enter the dark room hopeless, i turn to see the mirrored door close behind me, i hear the door lock, then nothing, i am consumed by the emptiness.

Regards

"Wake up, wake up they're coming"

The Corridor of my Subconscious - Door 18

The last thing i remember,

I was out with friends, in a pub, i had just finished a pint of beer and was heading home, the pub was closing, the bell for last orders was rung an hour  ago, i staggered outside,

A cab was picking someone up, they were arguing over the cost of the ride,

Over to the right near the bar garden a couple were making out, he's hands were like leaches trying to suck the life out of her breast and his head was swaying from side to side quicker then a metronome on steroids his lips the pivot point and he's erection was way to obvious to the crowd that had gathered to gawp, who stood laughing and pointing to the bulge in his trousers,

Over to the left in the small car park a fight had broken out, again, i swear this happens every friday night, i'm surprised the police don't just post a couple of guys here, it would save them the trouble of traveling, yep every friday you can guarantee one poor sod was heading to a hospital and the other was heading to the local Magistrate, i remember waving my hand at them, i've seen this all before,

I looked down the street and could see my friend, he was waving his arms about, gesturing for me to hurry up, then i stepped in something, at first i thought it was dog shit, but i didn't slide through it, my left foot was stuck to it, i couldn't move, i looked down at my feet, and sure enough my left shoe was stuck in a small puddle of what looked like tar, stupidly i looked up as if the tar had fallen from the heavens, i hadn't noticed at first but the noise from the fight had stopped, i looked up to my friend who was standing still, just looking at me, thats when i released that there was no noise, i don't mean that the crowd fighting had stopped, i mean nothing, not a sound, i stuck a little finger in my ear and tried to shack free the wax, still nothing, i turned to the group of fight clubbers, they were just standing like my friend,  looking at me, the couple making out in the garden had stopped and they're were also staring so were the gawkers, he still had that uncomfortable bulge in his trousers, even the cabbie was looking at me from the front sit of his volvo and his fair in the back seat too, i thought i was dreaming because nothing is this weird, one other person was looking, but i couldn't make them out, a man i think, in the shadows, i didn't see him before,

I freed my foot from the tar and then like a crashing wave all the sound came flooding back, the fight was still in fall swing the cabbie was still arguing the dude with the uncomfortable bulge was still eating face and my friend was calling to me, i could feel the sticky tar still on my shoe as i started to walk towards him, i could barely hear, he seemed so far away, he's pointing at something, but what, now he's running towards me, "I'm fine" i slur, and wave a hand like i'm batting at a fly, he's still pointing though and he seems to be screaming something, i turn to look over my shoulder when a dull thud contacts my head, then i fell to the ground, i could feel the wet path beneath me, but all was a haze, like a thick fog had just landed,

Thats the last thing you remember,

The haze is still before you and your head really fucking hurts, reaching to the saw spot you feel a lump and i small amount of warm fluid, you open your eyes and look at your hand, but you can barely see it the fog is so thick, but the tinge of red is unmistakable, one of them fight clubbers must had cracked you with something, thats why your friend was running towards you shouting, he was trying to warn you, but why was i left on the wet floor, and for how long,

You try to push yourself up off the ground, Lightening, but no sound of thunder, its more of a buzzing sound, the ground feels different, its not the path its something else, feels more like wood, you stand and rise above the mist that has settled about 3 feet high, your mind is still a little clouded by the blow to your head, the lights flicker and a wave of dizziness courses you to loss balance, you instinctively put out your arm to support yourself against the wall,

wall?, where are you?,

Your head is still doing summersaults, and you must still be out of it because your standing in a horrid corridor, the smell is enough to make you vomit,

So you do,

Once your finished you look at the door in front of you, apparently its room 00, odd that there is a room zero, never seen that before, you knock on the door, the sound echos down the uninviting corridor, you knock again and wait, still nothing, on response, you look down, frowning at the brass door nob you notice that there isn't a lock or even a key hole, well what for it, you grab the brass door nob and turn it anti-clockwise, nothing happens, the door doesn't open, you try again, still nothing, you step back to get a better look of the over all door, dark blue in colour and the number 00 screwed in brass with a matching door nob, you look to the right, the number 02 in copper, you grasp the copper door nob, still nothing, are all the doors locked, you shout out for somebody, your own noise courses your head to throb, but nothing, your alone, you move down the corridor, the floor feels soft under foot and every now and then there is a crunch but you can't see the floor through the layer of fog, your not sure why you are moving down the corridor, deeper into the dark but you know that you need to, your looking for your door, not looking at them anymore, you know where your going, the 9th door to the left, but why this door, how do you know this door is unlocked and will even open for you,

You standing in front of door 18, you look at the number emblazoned in gold screwed in place with golden screws the door is a rich red colour the handle like something from a posh 1930's hotel, and apart from the smell in the air and the slime at you feet this door could look very exclusive, your right hand moves for the door, but you stop it just before grabbing the golden handle, it wasn't you moving your hand, you didn't want to do that, but some uncontrollable force moved your hand for you,

You look to the left, back the way you came, the brass number 00 is just visible through the haze in your mind, that way doesn't feel right, you look the other way, you can't make out the numbers on the door farthest from you, but still it doesn't feel right, i fact that way makes you shiver and feel nauseous, you look back to the rich red of the door in front of you, the gold numbers, unblemished in this tormented corridor, somehow this door is the way out and you know this to be true,

You reach out for the door handle, and like some unknown force your hand is drawn to it, a pleasant warm feeling fills your arm, and for a moment the haze in your mind lifts and all is clear to you, you turn the handle anti-clockwise, a click and the handle pushes your hand away, as if it no long wants or needs your help, and the door opens, just a little, your task is almost complete, the haze returns clouding your mind,

You lean forward and try to look through the gap between the door and the frame work, but there doesn't seem to be anything to see, just darkness,

Nothing, after all this, nothing, now how the hell do you get out of this FUCKING PLACE, you turn to your left and step away from door 18, but as you do you hear music, its not your cup of tea, like something you would hear in an elevator, you stop and turn back to the door, the darkness is replaced with light, a golden light, you move towards the music, and with your left hand you push the door open,

A grand ball room lays before you, a red carpet, red and gold furniture, this whole room is decorated with red and gold, how tacky, with hugh gold trims lining the ceiling all very 1930's, a standing sign calls just inside the door tells me this place is the Gold Ball Room and apparently it opens at 8 pm sharp, you look at your watch, its 7:30 pm, again confusion, you were sure you left the pub after mid-night, you look up, and notice a bar, at the far end a bit small for a place this size, but then in a place this fancy you would have waiters right?, and with a dance floor i suppose people came, or come here to dance, rather then drink, you head towards the bar, you take a quick look back to the door as you go, its still open, but you notice a black stain on the red carpet a few inches from the door, you stop immediately and look down at your left shoe, there's nothing there, could of sworn you stepped in tar or something, oh well, the bar awaits, you clap your hands and rub them together,

There isn't a bar tender, the sign did say it opens at 8 pm sharp, did it mean the ball room or the bar, you look back to the door, its still open, you can see the flickering lights in the corridor and the mist seems to be held back some how,

You turn back and a bar man is standing in front of you cleaning a glass with a bright white towel, he asks about the lump on your head pointing with a free finger, you stop and star for a moment then tell him that last night, "I guess",  you were leaving a pub and then all became quiet, you couldn't hear anything, then you noticed your friend pointing to something, and as you turned you felt a thud, "i see" says the bar man, you ask for a Carlsberg Export, but the bar man just shacks his head slowly, a budweiser then, again he shacks his head, you ask what beer he does have, the bar man stops cleaning the glass putting it down on the counter with the towel, and retrieves another one from underneath, moving to the tap the bar man begins to pour out a beer, you pull out your wallet and take a 10 pound note from inside, the bar man puts the beer in front of you, you offer the tenner, the bar man raises his hand to stop you and tells you that your money isn't any good here, thats when you notice the American accent, you lean forwards and gesture for the bar man to move in closer, you ask where you are, the bar man simply replies, "The Gold Ball Room sir", you frown at his answer, "where in the world am i" the bar man stands up strait picks up the glass and continues to clean it, "I don't think that matters sir, enjoy your drink", confusion seems to be the word of the day today, whatever day this is, you look at the beer,

Behind you, over by the door, the tar begins to crawl, growing as it moves, spreading like a fungus across the like new red carpet, silent,

You look into the mirror behind the bar, the door is still open, you look down at the drink again, wondering, a free beer in a place like this, you look to the dance floor, then to all the empty seats, you take your wallet off the counter to place it back in your pocket but you drop it, sigh, you bend down to pick it up, the throbbing worsens,

The tar, like some nightmare creator has made its way to the wall beside the door, which is still open, and is climbing and spreading its foulness, tearing away at the fabric of this room like crows on a corpse,

You've fetched your wallet from the floor and returned to the counter, Music, and people, lots of people have filled the ball room, you stare at they're reflection in the mirror, a man to your left bumps you and quickly turns and apologizes slapping you on the back, you sit staring at yourself in the mirror, the dance floor is filled with people doing the charleston and waiters are moving from table to table taking orders, with your wallet still in your hand your rub your face and your eyes, again looking at the mirror, afraid to make eye contact with any of them, quickly you reach forward and stop a bar man you ask him where the toilet is, the bar man can't here you, so you shout, "wheres the bathroom, the bathroom", the bar man nods and points to a door just behind the bar, you look to your left and push yourself away from the bar, but quickly you stop, you look at the drink on the counter, man you need that right now, you snatch up your pint and make for the toilet,

The tar has reached the ceiling and has spread unseen behind draped decor over most of the far wall and is moving across the ceiling, consuming the reality of this room like a disease, the edges made up of thousands upon thousands of demonic claws tearing the room apart like it was flesh, eating it, consuming it, becoming it,

You pass a large texan at the door to the men's, you let him pass without looking him in the eye, in fact you haven't looked anyone in the eye except the bar man, you enter the mens toilet, the decor in here is vulgar to say the least, gold plated sink units and red painted walls, luckily the door has a lock, you turn it and quickly move to the gold plated sink units putting the beer down on the white work top you look long and hard at yourself in the mirror, maybe your head injury is worse then you think, you eye the cubicles behind you in the mirror, gold plated toilets, who ever decorated this place needs to be shot,  taking a roll of toilet paper you tear off a woad and start patting the area around the lump, what blood remains is dry and cracked, but only moments ago it was fresh, you check your watch again, 11:37 pm, "what", hands on the sink unit you drop your head down, more confusion, the haze is returning to you and the throbbing on the back of your head starts up again, you turn the cold tap on and filling your cupped hands with water you soak your face hoping that you'll wake up on the ground outside the pub, anger fills your body, hands on the sink unit again you drop your head and let out a scream, tensing up,

The top of the toilet door, the tar crawls through a gap and moves up to the ceiling in a thin vein of poison, it starts moving towards you, slowly creeping, silently stalking its prey,

You push off the sink unit and kick it, there well made, and now besides the throbbing on, and in your head your foot starts to hurt, you calm down and pick up the beer,

The vein of tar is almost over head,

You take a mouth full for the pint, its still really cool and tastes great, it has to be the best tasting beer you've ever had, wonder what it is, never tasted it before,

The poison vein above you releases a drop of itself,

As you left the pint glass back up to your mouth the little drop of poison tar lands in your drink unnoticed, you tilt your head back place the glass on your bottom lip and pour the rest of the beer down your neck, the drop of tar goes down with it, with your head tilted back, you open your eyes and immediately see the vein of tar running across the ceiling, you follow the vein to the door, did it follow you in, and way did it stop right above you, a shiver of realization comes over you, you look at the pint glass, you convulse dropping the glass, the pain is excruciating, you double over with pain, its unbearable, using the sink units for support you slowly make you way to the door, stepping through broken glass, but once you let go of the sink unit you fall, crawling to the door you reach up and unlock it, you feel like your being eaten from the inside, like something is tearing into you, the feeling is moving upward, your finding it hard to breath,

You manage to open the toilet door to the ball room, now the music is playing at a slow speed and getting slower as if the music itself was dying, the people that are left are in panic as they watch they're friends get eaten by the tar sinking into it with on escape, the screams are hellish, you crawl forwards, you know where the door is, you try to find it but the bar is still in the way, the last of the guests is consumed by the tar, and the music finally dies,

Silents falls, not a sound, except the noise created by you as you crawl through the tar looking for the door, you pass the bar and see the flicking light from the corridor, its to far away and as you move through the tar it begins to attack you from the outside, but slowly, it knows its inside you, eating and tearing from the inside, breathing is becoming to much effort you gasp for air,

The tar starts to encompass your mouth, it begins to pour out of the corners running down your neck, your nose at first starts to bleed out but not for long soon the tar starts to spread around your face moving to your ears first moving inside, then your eyes, it covers them eating at your eye lids so you can't close them then from the pupil your eyes open and the tar forces it way inside, soon after your face is a mass of tar soon after that your body is being consumed by it,

Your body frozen, on your knees your head tilted back and your hands reaching out as if your reach for god, the door slowly closes, the shaft of flickering light thins to nothing,

Darkness

Then a redness, the pulsating pain returns to the back of your head, you open your eyes, you nose is inches away from the golden 18 and the rich red door, quickly you stagger back away from the door crashing into another, you turn to see a wooden 17 nailed to a door that looks like its made of tree bark, backing away from that door you stand in the middle of the corridor the mist has gone, you see the brass double zero, a flash, you look down at your shoes, the tar that was there earlier is gone, again you look to the red door number 18 in gold, you star at it while walking back to door 00, thats where you woke up there has to be a way out over there, the crunching beneath your feet again, you look down to see the insects that infest this corridor, you start to freak out walking like your on hot coals, maybe its because you forgot about the wet floor but you slip and fall backwards hitting the back of your head on the path,

Just before you pass out you turn your head to see the pub and the couple who were making out watching what ever is going on,

Darkness

Whatever was in that room is out now never to return to its prison, and apart of you is now trapped forever, in purgatory, in the Gold Ball Room, a piece of your soul so to speak,

Regards

I shine to room 18

The Corridor of my Subconscious - Door 00

What could i write about?

I could write about a woman i really like

I could write about my iPhone

I could write about my job and how much i hate it

I could write about movies or TV shows

I could write a short story about a young girl dying of cancer

I could write a 120 page screenplay about trust

Or

I could write about what ever happens to escape from that room at the end of the corridor in the disturbed part of my subconscious

That happens to be a long dank corridor that looks like its been sitting at the bottom of a dirty lake for the past 30 years, with flickering lights and many doors running down both sides, the doors are all numbered in different materials the first, starting with 00 is a clean polished brass and at the end of the corridor, the one door that is facing me, with a number scared into the wooden surface, a deep crimson paint can still be seen where the door hasn't been charred by want ever foulness embodies that room, behind door 47, that part of my subconscious even the insects are to afraid to go near, oddly enough, the bottom of the door, which is the only place you can still see a good portion of the crimson paint work, and the 31 year old oak floor that is still is pristine, as if nobody has ever touched it, even the polish still shines in the dim flickering lights, the insects have defecated every other inch of the surrounding corridor, not a nook or cranky is untouched by the little creepy crawlies, a green slime which resembles pond scum, is sitting where the skirting board should be, reaching along the floor, up the walls in the corners and back across the ceiling like a coving, there is a damp musky smell, and an air of death,

This is not a place you'd like to visit

All the doors are held shut by a single lock which is represented by a door nob, again each a different material, but they match the numbers above them, you can not open these doors with a key, for there are on key holes, if you are meant to open a door, it well open for you, you simply turn the door nob and the lock will open, but beware, these doors do not open from the inside and they are not portals to a simple room beyond, carpeted with a small window in back, no these rooms are part of my subconscious, the dark side if you will, the place where anger, hate, malice, jealousy, wroth all the bad emotions dwell here, that voice, that paranoid voice in the back of your mind, the one that makes you second guess people you trust, its an illogical and irrational place, that cartoon devil that sits on your shoulder whispering into your ear,

The old oak floor has because so damp that it feels soft to walk on, door 00, the polished brass reflecting your visage, its dark blue in colour, you reach for the brass door nob, your hand gravitates to it, like two magnets, it feels weird at first, like a mild electrical currant running into your hand, it doesn't hurt, on the contrary it feels almost soothing, you turn the door nob slowly anti-clockwise, you hear the lock click back, it doesn't sound very strong, and like a magnet flipping its polarity your hand is pushed away from the door nob and at the same time the door opens a few inches,

Darkness, you reach forward and slowly push open the door, careful not to step into the unknown, as the door reveals more of the room, you notice that there is nothing in there, its a dark space, almost like a black hole ate the room, nothing tangible, you stand in the open door way, do you step in or do you close this door and try another one, the old oak floor beneath your feet swells moisture like a damp carpet, you lift you left foot and hold onto the door frame to support yourself, you lower your left foot to where the floor of the room should be, touchdown, a tangible hard surface, as your foot makes contact with the floor of the room, light that doesn't seem to have a source but grows from where your foot touches the floor, slowly revealing the room in its concentric circles like you stepped into a puddle, the room has a carpet, a rug, furniture like in some old victorian costume drama, big heavy curtains hang flacking the huge bay windows, and the ceiling capped with a chandelier, it looks nice, it looks inviting, a china set sits at the back of the room on a small table by the only wingback chair, again the room seems to be inviting you in,

The dampness from the old oak floor still adhered to your shoe, you move forward, shifting your weight on to your left foot, the right starts to lift, the damp that is on your left shoe starts to slowly infect the room, the once flawless carpet now has a tar black stain, you haven't noticed, you step again, and another tar like foot print is left by your right shoe, the tar starts to crawl slowly, reaching out across the carpet as if alive growing as it moves, the two spots join together and slowly, behind you they start to grow, faster and faster, encompassing the room out of sight, as if the room was flesh being torn away, your looking at the china set, the hot pot of tea and the delicious cakes beside it, the light over head starts to fade, not enough to get your attention, you reach for the china when, the chandelier over head blows as the tar infects it, a shower of bulb glass falls behind you, you snap to, shack your head, wondering what you are doing, you look at the china set again, now you notice that the light has dropped, but a flickering shaft of light casts a soft shadow on the wall in front of you, you look back to the door, again you wonder what has just happened, how did you get into the room, one minute your standing in the corridor looking onto a void and the next minute your standing in Jane Austin's tea room, the door starts to close, slowly to prolong the terror, your feet are stuck to the floor by the tar which is slowly crawling up your legs tiring into  your flesh, the decor starts to fade away faster then it appeared, you can't help but keep your eyes on the door as it closes, its hard to breath, there doesn't seem to be any air in this room but a last desperate effort to suck in enough air to let out a scream just as the door closes, you reach out with the one arm not trapped in bondage by the tar, a stifled scream emits from your lips,

Darkness,

The dark blue colour barely visible in the flicking light of the corridor, the brass number 00 glistens with every flicker, you take your hands away from your face and open your eyes, your looking at the brass 00, your outside the room again, standing in front of the door in the same place you stood when you opened it, confusion fills your mind, you back away you can't take your eyes off the door, then with haste you leave the corridor behind you, leaving my subconscious mind.

This is why i don't like that corridor, i try to avoid it as much as i can, but sometimes I'm drawn to it, and i open one of those doors, at which something escapes never to be replaced or trapped back behind the door it came from, and when something escapes, a part of you remains, trapped forever in purgatory,

48 doors, all are different, all hold some form of my disturbed subconscious.

Regards

The man behind door 47...