Progress Report.

Thursday 14th of March 2019

I woke up to discover my expertly made holes in the door have been covered over by a towering mountain of books. These piles consist of some very interesting books, which I guess is part of the point. I have to read them to get to the door, only then can I start again with the hatchet.

I know what you’re thinking. Why don’t I move the books? Well, I’ve tried that. Then I turned around and they’d moved right back. Why don’t I take the hatchet to them? Well, every time I think of doing that, the hatchet disappears.

I think, no, I know, I’m being sabotaged. I see something, out of the corner of my eye sometimes. I hear whispers. This hotel is huge and I’ve bee stuck in the lobby. Who else is in here with me? Maybe before I can get out, I have to find a way to go further in? Maybe. Is that my new favourite word? It can join why.

I keep seeing spiders but I know they’re not real, real spiders are consistent, they don’t vanish and reappear, like a light flicking on and off.

I thought that maybe the books could be the way out, but they’re probably just here to distract me. I said before that I’ve never been able to explore the rest of this hotel, I don’t think I’ve really tried. On the other side of this lobby is a door, kind of. It’s door shaped. It’s a door of stars, and empty blank space. It’s beautiful and terrifying to look at. But, it’s a way out, right? It’s space, right?

I’ve tried to walk through it, when I’ve been brave enough to, it always bounces me back, as though there’s a rubber shield in front of it. But it is door shaped, so maybe it just needs s key. Maybe, again.

I went to a ‘Writing for Wellbeing’ class on the 10th, did I mention that? I really enjoyed it. Now what? There were five people in the class, including the instructor. One person arrived late, another left early, so at time there were four, including myself.

Progress is never progress, not really, not here. I think this is hell sometimes. It would explain a lot. I died, probably a lifetime ago, and this is the hell I’ve trapped myself in. It’s not intended to be cruel, just to keep me here, because sometimes imprisonment is punishment enough. What did I do, you wonder? How did I get here? I lied, I stole, I was disrespectful and ungrateful. I was manipulative and cruel. I was a coward, I was false.

One of the books in the pile is called ‘The Little Book of Mindfulness’ by Dr Patriza Collard, 2014. I’ve read it before, but I’ll read it again. I’ve got time. I’m not going anywhere.

‘The Murder of Miss O’ available on Amazon and stuff, check it out if you feel like it.