I sat on a park bench on a warm summer night while the brisk wind caressed my body with the pure fertile smell of rain. I sat there gazing at the reflection of the stars and the moon on the surging lake wondering about things only a fool would. what was the purpose of my existence? What is life? What was the point of this suffering?
They say that when your happy, time goes faster. At least I knew the opposite of that was very true. I was born in the streets of a small town called Wutnak. It was a peaceful time back then. My friends and I would go climb trees in the vast fields of our neighbors farms eating whatever was edible, we would mostly target mango trees since they were the lowest hanging fruit and the tastiest. After which we would sometimes climb up the steep coulees filled with green grass as we looked down at the city rejoicing and cussing at the world around us, thinking we were the only ones that mattered in this world.
I couldn’t dwell in the past I had bills to pay, I needed to find a new job. I needed to upgrade my qualifications but I was lazy, unmotivated by the city and the people in it. The constant chatter of social media and it being used as the source of truth causing people to have convoluted ideas of the world twisted by their own version of the truth. I hated it.
The job I had was not the greatest to say the least. I was a programmer in a three man operation. It paid low but in the beginning I felt like I was learning a lot. But lately the CEO had started giving us deadlines for projects that were a little unrealistic to say the least. When approached with this issue he would say, “We have to look at the future Isaac. How’s that project coming along?”. I wanted to quit but I had attached too much emotional value to the software I had built. After spending countless hours at and after work on it. I didn’t want to go through the trouble of starting to go to interviews. I was lazy. But now that I had bought a silver 2005 Volkswagen out of necessity, It had put a three thousand dollar dent in my bank account. I was living pay cheque to pay cheque.
I lived in a one-bedroom apartment on the fourth floor with a balcony that faced the bad side of town. The apartment itself was probably built fifty years ago and probably had been renovated once in those five decades. But it had a window from the living room window facing the yellow maple trees on the street with other similar apartments, it wasn't all bad. I had furnished my place with second-hand furniture since I did not have the financial luxury of buying new furniture and It would have been a waste of hard-earned dollars, if I moved to another city. I had no commitments or no one to tie me down to this city except maybe this job that I was losing interest in. I was like a nomad deep inside.
As the burden of my thoughts kept building up in my head, I pulled out a cigarette from my pocket and lit it up. Dopamine rushed through my brain and the world wasn't so bad anymore. Everything was beautiful for the period of that exhale. Needless to say, the depression had sunk deep.
I came home, and I went to bed as fear cuddled me to sleep.
I was woken up by the cold hands of emptiness and confusion, it was a familiar touch. As I slowly opened my eyes, it felt different.
This didn't feel like my bed. This room had a fresh floral smell of jasmine, a king size bed with about a dozen pillows everywhere, and the sheets underneath me were of a very high thread count. Mine was different. A lot different. I had a tiny unkempt room with one pillow and a twin size bed which tilted a little on one side as one of the legs of the bed was broken. I hadn’t washed my sheets in a while, and it had started to smell pretty bad.
I scanned the room still in shock. There were a lot of paintings that looked like abstract art which I never understood. A wall window with a view of what looked like an abandoned ruined church surrounded by European aspen trees and bright orange light shining on the church's cross. But something that caught my eye the most was a small framed picture of a man who looked just like me and a lady who was way too beautiful for this guy with crooked Incisors.
I pinched myself. I felt my nails digging into my skin. The pain. This wasn't a dream.
I got up from the bed and briskly walked through the door and climbed down a fleet of glass stairs searching for an exit outside, still hoping to wake up.
The house was a beautiful modern glass house. It had an open floor plan with carefully placed high end furniture throughout the house and floor to ceiling glass walls between stock beams surrounded by beautiful thick European aspen trees with bright orange light flooding into the house.
I did not recognize the outside, it looked like a village. I spotted a house a kilometer away, a little worn out made of brick tiles and shaped like a hut. But it was quite big, about an acre. The European aspens covered the remaining areas except a main road the only road I could see in front of this beautiful house I was in with not a single soul outside. The sky was starting to turn grey and was losing its dark orange color.
Fuck. How much weed had I smoked last night?
I decided to run up to the computer and post this hoping you guys could tell me as to how I should proceed next ? I am freaking out! I will update as soon as possible.
Submitted June 20, 2019 at 04:09AM by 23594F4C4F http://bit.ly/2Y1IM8f
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