Where Am I?

Been running inside the tunnel for ages now. So freakishly dark. No idea where I am. Barely any light. I am tired. I am… not sure… something… thirsty? My lips are cracked. My tongue feels like a cotton ball inside my mouth. And no water here. What happened? I cannot remember. Was I attacked? Who am I? What am I doing here? I am… running.

Just keep running. Don’t stop.

Supply check. Shoes, worn out a bit. But still in walking/ running condition. Why do I keep running? Why can’t I just walk? Save energy? What am I trying to run away from? Why is it so dark?

Focus!

Shoes? Check. Ruck sack. None.

But I seem to have this notebook in my hands. Was it always there? Why on earth am I running with a notebook in my hands? Whose notebook is it? It’s a drawing pad. Are these my drawings? No way. I do not draw like that? These are drawings of rocks. Smooth rocks. Well, some anatomical drawings as well. Hands, ears… Who do these belong to? Do I know them?

Clothes, don’t look like mine. I do not wear vests. And it’s dark. Why do I not have anything reflective on? Who wears khakis in the dark? Why am I here? Where IS here?

Look around. What do you see?

I see… dark.

Why can’t I tell when I started running? What was I doing before that? I am sweating. So at least 30 minutes.

Stop. Look around.

Tunnels. Tunnels upon tunnels. Some of them have graffiti. Something that looks like… SEP? That’s it, SEP. Sep?!

Septic?

Guy called Sep?

Tunnel dug in September?

I do not know. And some have drawings. Same drawings like in the Notepad. Where is the Notepad? Have I dropped it? Did I imagine it? I just had a drawing Notepad. Just now. I saw it. I turned the pages. It was in my left, no wait, right hand. I was running. I have not dropped anything. That I can recall. But the Notepad is gone now. Why am I still running? Getting seriously tired now.

What’s that sound?

Breathe.

Did I stop running just now. Standing still with my eyes closed. Breathing. Have I stopped. No, I am still running. My eyes are open. Did I just imagine that moment’s relief?

SEP. SEP. SEF. SEF tunnels getting fewer.

More drawings.

Is there a light? No logical visible source of light anywhere. Where am I running to? Where have I run from? Why am I finishing sentences with prepositions? I am so so tired. How long have I been running for? I am sweating. Must have been at least 30 minutes.

That sound? There. Again.

Where is it coming from? Rumbling?

Maybe a crane? A waterfall? Landslide! Oh my god. What is that? I don’t know. I don’t know! I don’t know anything anymore. I have to keep running. I cannot stop.

Where do you live?

Where do I live? In a house. House has a fireplace. And bears. Bears? I live in a house with bears?! What?! Nothing’s making any sense anymore. I live in a house. A house. A house with wall holes and light screens. There is green on the light screen.

What’s a light screen?

It’s a square, that has light coming through. It lets light come through. The light is warm. There is green on it. The square has green on it. I don’t know. What am I saying? My hair is dripping sweat.

My head hurts. Please. Please! Can I please stop running now? Can you hear me? Anyone? Please? I want to stop running now? Please. I can’t do this anymore. I am tired. And my… my… this thing… what’s the name? This thing in the middle of me… this hurts. And I do not remember it’s name. And I am scared. And this thing. It hurts so much. I am tired. So tired. And I am scared. Please. Anybody? ANYBODY!

Drawings on the wall. So many drawings. Of these.

Hands.

Yes, drawings of hands with stones on them. Smooth and polished stones. I am looking for the letters. No more SEF anywhere. No more SEF. I am tired. I am scared. I am cold. Why am I cold? I have clothes. Time for another supply check.

Shoes, badly worn. Been running for so long. How long has it been since I have been running? Why am I running? What’s there? Where am I? Where is here? How did I get here? I have sweat on my face. I am tired. Must be at least 30 minutes since I have been running.

Didn’t you already say that before?

That loud noise! I am shivering.

You are cold.

I am scared.

Clothes, jeans and a thin T-shirt. Why do I not have a jacket? Did I have a jacket? Was there a vest? I thought… what are khakis? Such a strange word. Khakis. Makes me smile. Kha-kiss! Ha! Funny word.

You are going mad.

I am tired. I am thirsty. I am cold. I am scared. I am going mad.

Sound. What’s that sound? It’s so noisy now. Am I getting closer? Is it the end of the tunnel? Noise is so loud. Should I be scared? Why am I running towards the noise? I should go back.

Go back. Away from the noise. To the quiet. Stop running towards the noise. Stop. STOP!

I can’t. Why am I running? So many tunnels. Tunnels with finger things and hearing things drawn all over the walls. This is not the way. I should not be here. Drawings with stones. Who made these drawings? How did they get here? I cannot breathe. I am scared. And tired. My… my… It hurts. And something is hurting it. Stopping me from breathing. Like in the middle of me, there is something wanting out or in or just telling me to stop running. But I can’t. How long have I been running for? I am sweating. That noise. I can’t. My head hurts. So much noise. I am running. Holding my head between my hands or it might explode. I can’t. I am crying. Just running past tunnels with drawings of floating ears and fingers and ears and fingers. I want to be back by the SEF tunnels. Stop the noise.

Oh god, the floor has stopped. And I am falling. I am falling! I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I have no mouth. I can’t scream. I can’t scream!!

Ugh… Bloody alarm clock! 5:55.

Damn it… slept funny… Ouch! And now my legs are cramping… Time to wake up.

There is a reason I prefer insomnia.

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Nothing ever happens around me

Weekend. Saturday. And I am still in quarantine. Still got the lurgy. Meh! Another day of sitting by the window and making up games, maybe writing. Maybe drawing. At least, had Chris over last weekend. Even if had a bit of a domestic. Bickering really. He said something. Then I said something else. One thing led to another. Yelling happened. But don’t think anyone heard anything. Love these walls. Too thick when you want to eavesdrop. But also, too thin when you want to sleep. Bit of an agro happened and I am not sure who threw the first punch. Ok, so not quite a punch. More like a poke. Ok, a “few” pokes. Could have been me – I mean girls can be annoying too; girls can be anything. Go girl power. I was angry. I was sick. I was on antibiotics. Cranky as heck. I had an excuse. What was his excuse for acting like an idiot?

So much ado over so little. He said I should not be eating so much just because you are “supposed to” feed a cold. And I said he shouldn’t be calling me tubby when I am poorly. And, we were off. What an idiot. Well, at least by the end of it, he did admit he was wrong. But so much clean-up afterwards. I really wish all my fights weren’t so messy. Like literally. Things broken. Stuff leaking. No self control. Where do I find these guys? Oh wait! On tinder. Face-palm. So much to clean up. Every single time. So much paper towel. So many Marigolds. So many bin bags. So much environmental pollution from just a single stupid stupid fight. And time. So much wasted time. I wish I could find someone who can clean up after himself at the very least. Such an idiot. Well, haven’t heard from him in a week. I don’t care. If he does not wish to act like a grown up, I do not need him. I do not care about him. I do wish he would call. But that’s his problem. Another one scratched off the list. Whatever. Wish they didn’t all have to go the same way though. Makes me feel really sad at times.

But on the positive side, no weed-smoking smells in the house. Yay! Neighbours seem to have stopped smoking weed around the property. I was this close to going to have a word with the responsible neighbour. If, I knew who it was, that is. Well, call to the landlady helped. Happy days. No secondhand opiates being painfully inhaled.

Do I really like living here? Kinda do really I think. It’s pretty. And green. I like green. It’s quiet. And clean.

Really should do my dishes. Dishwasher seems to be getting quite full. And only 2 spoons in the drawer. Maybe order spoons over Amazon? Ok, stop. Just do the dishes after breakfast. Breakfast! Hungry. Smoothie? Oatmeals. Oatmeal smoothie. Class! Knives in the dishwasher. Nothing to chop apples. Knife too sticky to clean. Yuck. Meh! Apple-free smoothie then. Coffee. Coffee in oatmeal smoothie. Food hacked! Actually tastes kind of yucky. Likely will never make this concoction again. Ah well… First lesson of the day learned. Life hacked!

To the window with the smoothie we go. It tastes like mud, with coffee flavour. The smoothie. And the vegan protein powder is really doing nothing at all frankly to counter the taste of the soil. Maybe, the vegan protein powder IS the soil like texture? Oooo… who knew. Another big gulp. And gag.

Oooo… knock on the door. Delivery? This early in the morning? Go Amazon Prime! Maybe my sweeteners are here? I know, they are bad for your health (or so “facebook” says, but they are so yummy. Ok. Someone else opened the building door. And now there is talking in the corridor. Well, at least I don’t have to get out of my chair. Wow! Knocking on my door? What? At this hour? Dude! It’s 9:15 on a Saturday morning. Normal people are still sleeping. Hmmm… Police. Should I be asking to see ID? But I have no idea what to check for on the ID. What if they are murderers? Or serial killers? Or con-artists?

Focus Purbasha. They are talking to you.

She is so pretty. And smells so good. Ermmm…

No, don’t know anything about a serious disturbance in the neighbourhood. Unless you account for my upstairs neighbour playing single-shooter games too loudly on his PS/ X-Box.

Ha! Got a giggle all around. Cop distractingly pretty. There are two of them?! Did not notice the other one there at first. Weird. He should work as an undercover cop; no one sees him or takes notice of him. He is the background!

The background is politely nodding his head. Smiling quietly.

Sorry, what seems to be the matter? Someone make a complaint?

Damn she smells good. What is that perfume?

Yes, a bit of an incident in the neighbourhood. Nothing to worry about really. Thanks ma’am. Have a good weekend.

Next door.

Shut the door. That smell is stuck inside my nose now. Like cherry blossom. Should find that in a room freshener. Need to do groceries. Back to the mud-smoothie and my music. Listening to Coffee Prince album that I am properly addicted to now. I can’t seem to stop listening to it. Should I draw something? Should I go for a walk? Venture out for a 30 minute contact with humanity? Not expected to rain. Expected to get warmer later. More voices in the corridor. Police leaving the building. Pretty cop talking to someone out of view by the gate to property. Cops walking over to the next building. And I have nothing else to do today except figure out whether I wish to maybe infect the retired population of the area by going out for a walk right now. Or should I just stay indoors? Walking around the flat is getting dull as nobody’s business. Do you realise how tough it is to get to 7500 steps inside a 1BHK? Sigh!

Still more voices in the corridor. I thought the guys left. Back to the door.

So what happened really?

Video game playing neighbour and “lives diagonally across from me” neighbour here. Another 2nd floor neighbour on the stairs. Should really learn their names.

Apparently when they came to pick up the garbage on Friday, they were a few too many bags out back. The garbage truck guys got a bit annoyed with that. One of them dumped a bag a bit too hard and some ketch-up bottle or something cracked and caused a mess and a stench. They were not happy about it. Caused a racket. Had a fight with the landlady.

Seriously, where was I when all this drama was happening? Missed out on all the fun.

So the police got called.

Police think it might not have been a broken ketch up bottle.

Lives diagonally across from me whispers…

They were saying something about someone getting stabbed out back in the car park.

Yowza! Again, how do I miss out on all this? So unfair. Everyone has “wonder what happened” face. Polite eye-brow lifts and awkward half-smiles. And door is shut.

Back to my window. Now that I want a spot of drama, it’s perfectly quiet outside. No noises. No people. Not even a dog outside. So dull. I think I will just go clean the kitchen.

Kitchen looks clean. Maybe will just do the dishes. Oooo… spot on the floor by the fridge. Ketch-up? When did I buy ketch-up? Weird. Oooo… must add ketch-up to grocery list. Also kitchen roll. And bin bags. And maybe a better brand of disinfectant. This one doesn’t seem strong enough. And it’s weird using Domestos on the floors. Ok, time to do the dishes now. Running out of Marigolds. My life is just way too dull. Cold be gone… soon. Please…

Maybe I should go back on Tinder? I hear good things about OkCupid…

Scruffy

Kill me. This heat! This ridiculous assignment! Better still, let’s kill the editor. The only thing keeping me from bolting is Scruffy sitting opposite me, looking if possible, even more dejected.

“Absolutely mental mate! Should have just quit the assignment and got out when we still had a prayer.”

Scruffy and I are journalists. And because of some idiot editor’s whims, we are having to spend a glorious sunny Saturday morning at the stupid St. Mary’s asylum trying to get a grasp on the falling standards of NHS since the new political regime change. Painfully dull work. Saanvika Mridula Sengupta – I was supposed to be doing great things! I was supposed to be bloody reporting from the war-zone, not drinking watered down decaff out of a flexible sippy-cup! Scruffy has actually started smoking, after quitting for, what is it, the 7^th time this year?

For those people who labour under the delusions that psychiatry wards are full of misadventures and bangs and noises, let me assure you, there is nothing exciting about a bunch of folks walking about aimlessly, bumping into each other and muttering rubbish. The most exciting thing is when some poor bastard gets dragged to his room to be force fed medicines by the overbearing grouchy staff.

Scruffy’s real name has been forgotten over the years of bad fitting clothes and a total lack of shower. But he is a brilliant journalist and my best mate.

Oh great! Old Mrs. Harris has peed her pants again. What amusement! I could cry I am so bored. I compromise by yawning and chewing on the end of my pen.

“I mean, if we are talking about falling standards, how about discussing why newspapers are talking about psychiatry wards when the entire European market is going to pot! You can’t stuff things down peoples’ throats when they don’t want to swallow it.”

“You have been watching the news again.” Scruffs is talking to me. “Haven’t I told you it addles peoples’ brains?” Scruffy has given up all pretence, his sheets lying forgotten, and is just staring around the room. There is a TV droning somewhere. News.

Mr. Chip is talking to himself again. Bless him. I haven’t seen anyone come to visit him. Feel a bit bad for him. This quest to prove oneself to be an island is making complete loners out of people. I am not sure who I am feeling sorry for here. Am I not alone? Oh lord! I am making bad poetry now!

“Dude! You heard about the tourist shuttle through space?” Scruffy’s words draw me out of my head. “You know, the day they make the news official, I am buying my seat”.

“Scruffs, you might find your freelance peanuts to be a bit less than the expected asking rate for the trip!” Dear old Scruffs. Always making plans of getting out. Never been able to explain to him that some things, you just can’t ever get out of. Like this bloody assignment. But I guess when you are stuck in windowless rooms where they are trying to fry the madness out of you… Why the hell is the air-con not switched on? Maybe Scruffs and I should write about that. I could already see the head-line: NHS cuts lead to sun strokes. Sub-heading: Air-con cuts to save hospital budgets. It’s like a conspiracy to make you mad if you aren’t already there. What’s with the buzzing? Oh God! I am allergic to bees. I hope it’s not bees. Scruffy has dozed off. He is wasted in this profession. Brilliant imagination! No idea why he is forever stuck in this dead-end job. Must get out.

“Come along dear.” Uh oh! Nurse, 12 o’clock! Should probably wake Scruffs up, you know, just in case. Not sure about visitor rules around here. Do we qualify as visitors? “Scruffs! Oi!”

“Come along dear. Just leave your toys. Time for your medicine.” Why does she have to speak to people like they are idiots? How utterly condescending! Who is she talking to? Really need to wake Scruffy up.

“Mate, wake up. The orderlies are coming over. Damn it!” Is it illegal for people to sleep in this ruddy place? “Seriously Scruffs, stop snoring and get up.” What’s going on? Why are they coming towards our table?

“It’s alright dear. There is really no need to cause all this commotion everyday; now is there? Oh just strap her. Jeez! Every single day! Get that dirty old teddy as well or she’ll make a racket. And throw that filthy scrap of paper. That disgusting chewed up straw too. Saanvi dear, just relax. Just open your mouth like a good girl and swallow your medicines.”