comfort

I spent another day sitting in my room, occasionally glancing out of the window. The city below was bustling and lively all day. It must have been a Saturday. By the time I reached the decision to leave the flat it was already evening. All I could see from my window was a number of lights: cars, buildings, street lights. The urge to go outside had been becoming stronger over the preceeding weeks: each day marginally more. It was too late to go out, though. The busy night life in the city was much too loud. I would stay up until dawn when the urge would hopefully die away. Instead, I returned to my bed and peeled away the cover.
After an hour or so of sleep I became irritable and slid my way to the other side of the room. I opened the cupboard, but it was still inside. One day it won't be there. Then the relief will set in, shortly to be replaced by the worry and the fear. Until that day it'll rot in there.
It was around this point the urge became so strong I clambered out of my window onto the ledge outside. I tried to shut the window behind me, but it was still slippy after all this time. Fearing I would be followed if I left the window open, I quickly found my way back inside. The relief was also mild but noticable, and maybe I would get some rest. However, I only had time to make my way over to my corner before I felt the need to go outside return and I picked up my hat impulsively.
It took a moment to open the door. On a wetter day the lock must have become rusty, as it would not budge, no matter how hard I pushed. I had to take my knife and cut around it to open the door before I could get out. I wouldn't be needing it again anyway.
The street was surprisingly bright ater the grim stairwell. The first thing I noticed was the noise, however. It's hard to hear from my room, so the volume took me by surprise. The sound of the cars, the music from some of the brighter buildings, the screaming people. It seemed like a different world to the one I left last time I was on this street. Of course, I knew it was I who had changed and not them. I wandered to the left, or the right - I can never tell - and continued until I saw a turning. Everywhere seemed less busy than at first. People were still around, but on the other side of the street, or running. Most were still swelling cancerously around the loud, bright buildings.
The turning led to a dark, narrow alleyway. Steam was rising slowly from an unseen hole or vent. I stepped into the alley, as I was beginning to regret leaving my room, and felt somewhat relaxed. There was nobody about and nothing to explore. The moment I thought this, something caught my eye. In the far corner of the alley was a loose manhole cover. Without even giving it a thought, I headed over to lift it. The dark below was consuming and I became immediately drawn to it. I quickly lowered myself downwards, climbing the ladder and allowing myself to splash into the grime below. A quick survey of the tunnel I was in showed little light and a number of holes in the wall. I heard something scurry to my right.
This was more like it.

writing
© ross baker 2008