It just dawned upon me that I have no idea where I am. I am weightless. Directionless. Drifting. Without time, Without context, Without control. Everything I feel is a muted sensation, A slow, subtle interpretation of input from a faraway source. Where my eyes had once perceived there to be light, there is now only darkness, A darkness that is finally beginning to fade from around me, Broken by an occasional glow of faint orange. The experience could almost be compared to seeing lights from behind closed eyelids, Except that it is now without eyes–without that once-familiar voluntary opening of eyelids, without physical being– That I have become inexplicably aware of a visible environment developing around me, Coming to life beyond me; A world revealing itself to my conscience. As I become more aware of my surroundings, I realize that I am underwater. I am in a pool, a large rectangular space bejeweled with sparkling white tiles. I am floating beneath the surface but above the ground, and I do not breathe nor feel the pull of waves. I can vaguely sense that there is water around me, but to me it is only a slight pressure. My senses strain to perceive anything, but my senses are only faintly tangible. What are the numb feelings of nothingness enveloping my nerves? I am suspended, drifting gently in a place far away, or nearby…it doesn't seem to matter much, now. Direction and distance are relative, after all. All I am certain of is that I am lost. I am at a loss for words, for touch, for explanation, for context. Surely, something is missing. Will I panic? Oh, yes. I'll fight to control my panic, and try to take in any information I can– Distant voices are emanating from a place beyond the surface, distorting and fluctuating as noise strikes the rippling surface of the water. This place must be a night party of some sort; past the swirling confusion of froth above me there does appear to be people, people moving or maybe dancing in slow motion– With great effort, I can just barely distinguish the far-off sounds of voices and laughter. I cannot recognize any of them. Everything looks blurry, like a coagulation of multicolored blobs. All faces are lost within a haze of gold I see more than I have told Figures eclipsing the neon illuminations of party lights All is obscured by shimmering reflections which dapple the surface of the pool; Mere shadows silhouetted against the vivid beams of light cutting through the water. The bass notes of an unfamiliar song must be pounding through invisible speakers, reverberating through the ground and thrumming softly around me. It's barely discernible. Truly, I have never felt so mesmerized and so unsettled at the same time. I try to reach out, but I am lost in the surreal atmosphere of this terrifying, beautiful place. Do I want to be here? What is this place? Why can't I feel, though I can distantly sense I am there? Time passes. Seconds beyond measure, Lifetimes untold of. Before I know it, I feel as though I have been floating here forever, lulled into a state of both weariness and, strangely, a little excitement. At some point I begin to feel my senses returning, like a vacuum sucking my conscience back into the security of my human form. It is gradual at first, but then it becomes more rapid, and then I feel the world begin to bend and collapse around me, the music fading in and out, my vision distorting just like the water. Then everything spirals into chaos.
I don't think I even realized I fainted until I woke up alone on the carpeted floor of an empty room, soaked to the skin with chlorinated water. I feel like I've been flipped inside out. A rectangular ceiling light blares down upon me, filling the room with intensely bright radiance. Ouch. My poor eyeballs. Groggily, I stagger to my feet, holding myself against the wall for support. As my vision adjusts to the light, I decide to take a look around. Oddly enough, there does not appear to be any furniture nor any decoration in this room. I turn in a circle, but the only thing to captivate me is the patternless walls, the edges of which are yellowed and torn. Huh. A blanched white door is on my left side, but other than that, there's nothing of much interest. Other than, ‘Where the heck am I?’ Upon further inspection, I figure that the dimensions of this room are only about 10 feet long on every side, forming the shape of a cube. Hmm…this looks like it could have been an office. Well, duh. Wait, why am I thinking about the measurements of this room?! I should be wondering why I'm here, or how I got here, or why I'm… Wet… I stop pacing, although - unsurprisingly - before now, I hadn't even realized I was pacing. Wait a minute… Oh, crap, I'm turning into one of those oblivious characters that always die in bad horror movies! This has to be a nightmare. It can't be a horror movie. That would be impossible, right? Nevermind, I need not make my existence any more ironic than it probably already is, or at least, would be, if... A feeling of dread begins to surface within me, and I suddenly remember– My clothes are wet. The pool, the shadows, the lights…. That couldn't have been a dream? I feel myself grow anxious, and I scramble to the door, frantically fumbling with the round copper handle. Oh great, what a classic. I'm in denial of my situation. A predictable reaction from an idiot in a horror film. I'm not thinking clearly… Where am I? Flinging the door open, I find myself standing in a long, empty corridor. With a glimpse, I can see that there are a few closed doors here and there, but the hallway extends unusually far into the distance. Unnaturally far. Come to think of it, I don't think I can see an end to this hallway. Well, this is promising. No. This is bad. This is really bad- I tighten my fists and try not to panic, scolding myself for letting my anxiety get to me. Naturally, my stubborn brain protests. Who wouldn't be terrified if they woke up like this?! Give yourself a break! You should be nervous! I quickly shake my head at myself, loathing my inner critic and hoping it won't get me killed. It's okay, you're not going to die. You'll find your way out of this. You always do. Right? I'm usually pretty good at persuasion, but standing alone, my intrusive thoughts persist. 'I'll make it out of this', right, who am I kidding?! I'm kidding myself; I only thought that to be ironic. I do annoying things like this to myself all the time. WHY AM I DOING THIS TO MYSELF?! I shake my head again, gritting my teeth in frustration. Must I narrate everything I do in my head?! This is ridiculous. All I have to do is choose not to. I've resorted to this horrible “coping mechanism” of distracting myself with self-criticism. More accurately, it's a distraction strategy of perfectionistic self-assessment which accomplishes nothing substantially beneficial. At this point, any observer would certainly think I needed therapy…or maybe a bludgeoning blow that would knock me unconscious so I would stop thinking and allow the plot to progress… But, that aside, even if my life was meant to be a horror movie, what would an observer have been expecting from me, anyway? Disappointment, with an occasional touch of humor at my foolishness? Or maybe this would be a comedy, as they watch me OVERTHINK UNTIL I'M GRAY AND OLD. Only if you live that long, ha. NOT FUNNY! This would never be a comedy. It's a sad example of how my harsh self-criticism impedes on my productivity. STOP OVERTHINKING!!! All this I thought in the span of 20 seconds. I force myself to clear my thoughts and do my best to take a deep breath. Exhaling shakily, I gather my bearings and take a few tentative steps out into the hallway. The hall is eerily quiet, silent except for the faintly buzzing ceiling lights hanging above me. For a moment I hesitate, glancing back at the room I woke in and debating whether I should leave. Well, I don't think my situation would be any better if I stayed. Besides, the polished chalk-white marble floor looked much more heartening in comparison to the blandly carpeted, completely empty room. Oh well, here I go. ~ FIN ~ ~ Start 3:24 pm, Thursday 6/7/2022 Finished sometime near that time frame This warns of the dangers of a counterproductive and self-attacking inner critic and obsessive analysis to the point that one goes into a state of analysis paralysis #horror #story #writing
