Fatal Ideals

This fucking sucks, I say aloud while inhaling the cancerous stick. Embers plummet to the rusty metal of the balcony, like a cosmic rock crashing from the sky. I stare into the night, and in retrospect, I could have changed this. No matter what he says, maybe it's not too late.

The day this all started was May 22nd.It was a stormy night.

Yes, I know.

I hate flirting with cliches, but I'll try my best to make this sound much more alluring.

The night was drenched in a rainy anguish. It was a torrential downpour that I was in no way prepared for. Puddles of water careened down my windows, as I drove down the road. I had been trying to write a story for weeks, but I always found myself shelving it, like a repressed event haunting one's mind. Even then, the rain somehow invaded my thoughts, engulfing them in a wet shadow that never seemed to go away.

I really needed to go home.

But the rain.

Yes, the rain led me elsewhere.

I slowly darted through the rain and I caught a glimpse of a sign welcoming me to the city of Warren. Large buildings and nice streets paved the way, as I continued down the path of the city.

The vicinity is an ear-splitting catalyst of silence. I didn't see a single person or vehicle on the streets. Its state of lorn equally worried me and welcomed me.

I peered at a tiny, orange light in between my windshield wipers. My wipers moved swiftly, but this light shined brighter and brighter as I drove closer. It appeared to be a large building in the middle of all the rain.

A hotel.

I pulled over on the side of the decrepit city street and tried to spot any other anomaly.

Why the hell was this the only light I could see in such a large city, I thought. But the time for decision making was now, so I decided to pull into the vacant parking lot of the hotel.

I exited my car and received the assault of rain fire from the sky. I bent down inside my car to retrieve my bag. Rain coalesced atop my hair from the roof of the car, like the canopy of a rainforest.

I was getting drenched.

I hurried to the front doors of the hotel and swung them open. My slippery hands barely grasped the handles.

The interior was something I had never quite seen before. It bared a guise of an eccentric design that looked almost unreal. The walls were a bronze wood laced with gold. It went up for several floors. The floor was glazed with an unusual glow. The shining wood in them almost gave off a reflection. It was as if I was staring at a large painting, trying to capture the entire image with a single gaze. But it was impossible. The center was crowded with so many people waiting in line to get a room.

Something was not right, I thought.

How could this many people be here, but I could see no sign of life outside. But besides toughing it out and driving through the flood outside or sitting in my car, there was no other alternative.

So, I approached the line and stood there, waiting for what seemed like hours. I decided to climb on my phone to pass the time. Right as began to wonder what the hold up was, I looked up and I was in front of the clerk's desk. It was a tall man who wore a suit and looked about mid 50s. His face was covered in scars, like he was in some type of war several years prior. His silent smirk was unsettling.

"Man, it's about time" I sigh under my breath.

"Time," he muttered with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, I've been waiting here for a long time."

His face folded and frowned like a balled up paper bag.

"What makes you special enough to claim ownership of time itself," he asked me sternly.

I equipped a face of confusion. "Wait, what."

"Look, I just want a room," I told him.

He pulled out a room key on a chain.

"The price is 1 dollar."

"1 dollar, you're kidding me, right," I asked him.

"1 dollar is the price."

This had to be some joke. This had to be bullshit.

At any rate, I dig into my wallet and slap 1 dollar on the counter in front of him.

He dropped the keys in my hand and flashed a smile.

"Enjoy your stay," he says.

Etched on the keys, was the room number: 243

I look at him while closing my fist on the keys.

"Thanks."

I head up to my room. Although the place Is nicely decorated, it's old nonetheless. The elevator I entered looked as though it had been around to see some wars, like the clerk.

Through the sounds of creaking gears and metallic moans, I ascended toward my room. I stopped on my floor and was met with an interior reminiscent of the creepy halls seen in The Shining.

Velvet stripes layered the walls. Rose colored flowers painted the carpets. I couldn't hear a single sound despite standing behind lines of people just minutes before. None of it made any sense, but none of that mattered because I was tired of the walking. I followed the hall until I made it to my room.

I opened the door and smelled the dead air around me. The room had old carpet, much like the ones in my grandmother's house. I could remember myself running through the carpet with toy trains and clay. These red stained carpets, however, only reminded me of crime scenes found on TV.


The walls were floral like the ones outside the room. There was a mini fridge, faucet, and a twin bed. The only saving grace was the balcony that oversaw the empty city, drenched in rain.

I plopped on the bed and layed my bag on the floor next to it. I really needed to get home, but under these circumstances I felt that I should wait it out. I bent down and pulled out my laptop.

Yeah, I have a confession to make, I am a writer and I really needed to use this time to write. I have been trying to write this story for months, but nothing has come of it. I have the ideas and characters in my head, but it's gone nowhere. I opened my laptop up and looked at my blank document. The rain outside functioned as the beat to a song I've had in my head for so long. I started to type something when my phone began to vibrate. It was a number I didn't have saved.

"Hey baby, I'm in room 215. I'm not wearing anything, like you told me to...I'll be waiting 💋."

My hands became heavy and my pants got a little tight, but I quickly locked my phone until I heard a knock on my door.

I closed my laptop with a deliberate slowness.

Who the hell could that be during this hour?

I stood up and tiptoed toward the door. The knocking became louder and louder. I stopped in front of the door and bent my knees to look through the peephole. I tried my best to see through to the other side, but the glass was cracked and there appeared to be something blocking my view.

I slowly grip the the handle of the door before undoing the latch next to the door. I open it and see...the man from the front desk.

"Are you the...the guy from the front desk," I asked him.

"I am indeed."

His voice lingered in my ear drums.

"Why are you here?"

"If you will let me in, I would be happy to explain."

I thought to myself, why the hell would this guy want to see me?

But something inside me, something about him seemed mysterious. I almost felt obligated to hear what he had to say.

"Alright," I said as I opened the door, allowing him inside.

He walked straight to the balcony and stood at the metal railing. He motioned me to join him, so I walked toward that way.

"The rain, it's beautiful, isn't it?"

I looked at the dark sky as it spewed it's hateful excrement.

"I guess so," I said dryly.

"I know why you're here," he said abruptly.

"What do you mean by that?"

"This hotel. This place isn't real," he said. His statement nearly cut time in half as it seemed like the world around me stopped turning.

"What the hell do you mean it's not real," I asked him.

"Escapism. That is your true purpose for being here."

"Either you're gonna start making sense, or I'm calling the fucking police."

"You came here for the sole purpose of escaping a world you do not wish to take ownership of any longer."

I picked up my phone and began to unlock it.

"You have a wife and a child and you came here to escape what you have created, in other words, you are an unreliable author of your own story."

I stop touching my phone and I look up at him.

"Who the fuck do you think you are telling me about my life. You're some weirdo blabbering off about things he has no idea about."

"Oh, I know you all too well. You write for a living, yet you have not told the truth your entire life. Not to your readers and not to yours-"

I grab him by the collar and slam his back against the railing.

"You got 5 seconds to get the hell out of my room."

"Have you heard the forecast for the day, it has only been sprinkling outside."

I throw him to the side of the balcony and he lands perfectly in the chair next to him.

"H-how do you know me," I asked him.

"You are not the only man that has come here to escape his fate. I have met you a thousand times before, you are all the same."

"This can't be happening."

"The world around us is but an illusion, it is the way with which you manipulate it that makes it real. You cannot change this now, you can only live with the result."

I walked slowly into the room and grab my pack of cigarettes in my bag and I walked back onto the balcony.

I light one and blow at it.

"This story you are writing, are you formulating it for me, or is it for yourself?"

"For you, why would I make it for a complete stranger?"

"Well, that's a null argument, my friend, you don't even know yourself."

I looked at him and stared back at the abyss that is the night sky.

"You say that like you know who you are."

"But, I do, my friend. Through infidelity and writing lies, this became my escape."