Apartment 13
"I just want the voices to stop"
It was like living in a sewer, that cramped apartment of his. The stink of sweat, puke, and piss hung thick in the air. Only one light at a time - a grimy window by day, a dim bulb by night.
Not a place fit for humans, it stripped away what little dignity he had left. Trapped, with no choice but to get used to it all. The vomit and urine he'd sometimes wake up swimming in when the highs hit hard. The voices of strangers that weren't really there.
"Shut up!" I'd yell at first when they started. They'd go quiet for a beat, like I'd startled them, but then the babbling would resume.
Crazy whispers.
Not the cool murderous kind you see in movies though. Just weird mutterings about me. "Is he getting better?" "He's responding well." Sometimes telling me what to do, but just dumb stuff like "Go to the corner!" or "Let me go!" If they told me to, I don't know, strangle some girl I brought home or jump out the window, at least that would make some twisted sense. But this? Nothing made sense anymore.
In that squalid little world, reality blurred. The whispers were my only company in the shadows. I'd given up trying to escape their haunting refrain long ago. All I could do was listen.
***
The house I lived in was an odd one, like a stray cat that had wandered into my life, carrying secrets in its eyes. It breathed and sighed, the walls seeming to shift and murmur in the stillness of the night. Sometimes, I'd catch a flicker of movement from the corner of my eye, a shadow that danced and disappeared before I could turn my head.
In those moments, a chill would run down my spine, and I'd feel the weight of an unseen gaze upon me. It was an eerie sensation, like being watched by a silent, invisible presence. Yet, strangely, it also brought a sense of comfort, a reminder that I was not truly alone in this world.
Outside, the streets of our little neighborhood hummed with life – the laughter of children playing, the rumble of jeepneys navigating the narrow roads, the melodic calls of vendors selling their wares. But within the walls of my home, a different reality existed, one where the ordinary blurred with the extraordinary, and the line between the seen and unseen grew thin.
I couldn't explain it, this peculiar feeling that clung to the air like a persistent mist. All I knew was that my place had a mind of its own, a whisper in the shadows that kept me company, even as it sent shivers down my spine.
The panic grips me like a vice, freezing my body in its icy clutches. I try to scream, but the sound catches in my throat, a remnant of the tears I shed as a child. Screaming is my catharsis now, a release from the terror that always ends in blackness.
This place may seem like a hellish pit, but I'm trapped within its grimy walls and pungent stench. It has become a part of me, a twisted home where Tanya's visits are the only solace.
Tanya, my sweet Tanya, with her vials of pleasure. She knows how to calm the storm raging within me, and I trust her, only her, to soothe the demons that haunt my soul.
In this narrative, the writer is a teenager in the late 2000s, and the style is reminiscent of Haruki Murakami's narrative structure, with a touch of wistfulness and a hint of darkness. The setting is evocative of life in the Philippines, with simple language used to convey the character's inner turmoil and their reliance on Tanya's mysterious "vials of pleasure."
***
The flickering light bulb cast a faint glow on the crummy ceiling above me. I lay motionless, my body slowly embracing the cold that crept in from the shadows. In that dark, cramped space, reality seemed to slip away, leaving me in a dazed and depraved state.
Was this how my life would end? In this wretched little corner of the world, where happiness was but a fleeting moment, chased by the needles and fluids that offered a temporary escape from our god-forsaken existence?
Tanya and I had been soaring high, sharing everything from sex to the substances that fueled our euphoria. But in a heartbeat, she was gone, leaving me alone to face the abyss. Her frantic footsteps echoed in my mind, a haunting reminder that even in our darkest moments, we were never truly together.
As I lay there, convulsing or perhaps just imagining it, the lines between reality and illusion blurred. What was real? What was merely a figment of my addled mind? In that flickering ember of consciousness, I could no longer tell.
***
The dimly lit room echoed with the familiar clink of glass vials. Tanya's arrival was like a symphony, her footsteps the prelude to my escape. "Here, try this," she whispered, offering a vial filled with liquid oblivion.
Without hesitation, I rolled up my sleeve, exposing the canvas of scars that mapped my journey. Like clockwork, the needle pierced my skin, and the voices that haunted me faded into silence. As the drug coursed through my veins, the world burst into vibrant hues, a kaleidoscope of colors that drowned out the grey monotony of existence.
In those fleeting moments, I was alive, free from the shackles of my own mind. But as the high ebbed away, the shadows crept back, enveloping me in their suffocating embrace. The voices returned, whispering their twisted melodies, taunting me with their familiarity.
"Tanya," I slurred, reaching out to her, "you give me joy, you give me peace. Without you, I'd have to end it all."
She remained silent, her expression unreadable, but her presence was enough. In her arms, I found solace, a temporary reprieve from the demons that plagued me. And in that moment, I didn't care about the consequences, for her vials held the promise of escape, a syringe symphony that drowned out the cacophony of my mind.
***
Suddenly, the darkness began to shift, morphing into a blinding whiteness that swallowed everything around me. My grimy window, the piles of clothes on the floor, even the musty scent of my bed – all vanished, leaving only stark, empty walls and a small door.
"Am I dying?" I tried to ask, but no words escaped my lips.
Then, as always, the blackness consumed me.
For a fleeting moment, I floated in a vast, comforting void. The darkness embraced me like an old friend, offering solace from the harsh realities of the world. It was a sanctuary more soothing than any high, more calming than Tanya's gentle touch.
But light always finds a way to creep in, piercing the veil of darkness.
Voices echoed, distant and muffled.
"Any progress? We almost lost him back there."
"He's still violent. We have to sedate him to keep him calm. The experimental drug isn't working like we hoped. To think he was responding so well at first..."
"What does he scream about? Does he still call the nurses Tanya?"
"I'm afraid so, Doctor."
"Years of drug abuse and his underlying psychosis have shattered his grip on reality. I wonder what kind of world he's trapped in?"
As the voices faded, I clung to the void, desperate to remain in its comforting embrace, safe from the harsh light of truth.
+++
This is a work of fiction inspired by a dream. I get a lot of dreams every night mostly averaging three. It feels more of watching a movie and I started writing them down when I wake up for inspiration in my writing prompts.
Photo: Apartment and Creepy Room Music: Over My Shoulder by Mika
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Short Stories
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