The more work I do on my second manuscript, the more it resembles an attempt to write an encyclopedia. So since I have had no feelings of closure with my writing lately, I have started to write a few short stories a month . . . just to recapture the satisfaction of completing a writing project. I will start to post them more often throughout the next couple of months (while also working on my manuscript . . . and possibly studying for the Louisiana Bar Exam). So here it is, my attempt to find some closure in my endeavors:

Lost at Home

A man woke up this morning, much like any morning. He stretched his arms and legs before sitting up in bed. It was customary for him to sit up and plan his morning routine before actually getting out of bed. He could hear the alarm go off on his automatic coffee maker, notifying him that his coffee was ready and waiting for him. This would be his first stop. He peered over the edge of his bed to ensure his slippers were ready and waiting for him. He threw the covers off his body and carefully placed his feet into his waiting slippers.

He followed the scent of fresh coffee, methodically winding his way through the bedroom, down the hall and into his kitchen where the coffee sat patiently awaiting its maker. He poured a mug and stood in front of the machine, impatiently sipping the hot liquid. He nursed at his mug in silence until he began to shed the weakening tendrils of sleep that still clung to his mind. The inchoate memory of a dream passed through his mind, but the effects of the coffee stifled its formation and retrieval. He tilted his head like a confused dog as he caught glimpses in his mind of an unfamiliar dreamscape. A valley stretched out before him, and in that valley many different paths cut through a field of grass like spaghetti thrown against the wall. He shook his head and returned his vision outward to the world around him, to the familiar objects and shapes within his kitchen.


Puzzled, but not yet too troubled, he left the kitchen to shower and dress himself according to his normal routine. As he stood brushing his teeth in front of the bathroom mirror he felt keenly aware of the comfort he derived from both his routine and well-appointed apartment. He had worked hard in his professional endeavors to afford a much larger apartment than he needed for the city. His clothes and electronics were of the finest craftsmanship and he took exceptional pride in maintaining his collection of things.


After finishing up in the bathroom he moved on to his closet. He surveyed the long rows of suits, shirts, ties and socks. He carefully selected an outfit and brought his items to his bedroom where he could examine himself in a full-length mirror. Once he had adjusted his tie to the perfect length, and ensured his shoes had a proper sheen, he left his bedroom and headed down the long hall toward the living room where he remembered leaving his briefcase the night before.


When he arrived in his living room he was surprised when he did not immediately see his briefcase on the coffee table where he so clearly remembered leaving it. He scratched his head in confusion, but did not let himself become agitated. It must be next to the couch, he thought. He walked past the brown leather couch to a nook on the other side of the room, but still he could not find his briefcase. Now this is odd, he thought. He sat down on the couch to recount his movements from last night. After a few moments he stood up quickly and pointed his finger in the air. I must have left it in my office. Of course, how could I be so foolish to forget?


He left his living room and went to his home office. But upon arrival in his office he still did not see his briefcase in any of the usual spots. A certain level of anxiety seeped through the periphery of his awareness. Something must be amiss; he rarely misplaced things. His things were too precious to him to misplace, and each of his many things had its own place. To lose or misplace something was usually an indication that some sort of disorder had crept into his life. He took a deep breath to stop the growing tension in his stomach. He knew people criticized his meticulous nature and dedication to his possessions, but he always knew the reason behind his proclivities. The order and good stewardship of his possessions was his way of keeping the chaos of the world at bay.


He left his home office and started pacing through the quiet rooms of the apartment. Finally, he decided that he must have left his briefcase at work. Surely, that is the only reasonable explanation, he thought. Disgruntled, but still fully possessed of his demeanor, he went to his foyer to retrieve his overcoat and leave for work. He hated to leave without all of his normal accoutrements, but he knew he must not let himself become too agitated. He opened his front door and stepped out of his apartment. He shut the door and stormed out of his apartment in disbelief at his forgetfulness. He had been lost in thought and it was some time before he looked up to realize he was not in the familiar hallway that usually greeted him. He stopped to look around. The elevator should be right here, he thought. The angst he had been suppressing began to break free from its mental cage. Confusion started to cloud his mind.


Breathe, just breathe . . . he thought.

He reminded himself how large the building was and since he was still relatively new to it this must happen to everyone at some point. He resolved to turn around and simply walk back the way he had come. He was sure he had just missed the elevator due to his distracted disposition. As he walked down the hallway he had a strange feeling something had changed. For the most part everything was still the same, but something seemed different to him. He had never noticed some of the door numbers he passed. I never knew there were so many other apartments on this floor, he thought.

He turned the corner to see a woman waiting for the elevator. The hallway suddenly felt much longer than he had ever noticed. He picked up his pace, rushing toward the waiting woman at the end of the hall. The woman did not seem to notice him barreling down the hallway. He could hear the familiar Ding! as a bell rang to announce the arrival of the elevator. Without looking in the direction of the charging man, the woman exited the hallway and, presumably, entered the elevator. “Hold that elevator, please!” he yelled as he neared the door. However, the woman must not have heard him because the elevator closed just as he arrived.


He impatiently pushed the button, but it did not light up or give any indication at all that it was even working. There were none of the typical lights above the elevator to show whether one was coming or leaving. He pressed his ear to the cold steel doors, but he could hear nothing: no moving cogs, scraping metal, nor even the hum of a motor. He peeled his face from the elevator doors and started to frantically push the down button. Panic crossed the threshold into something he could no longer endure. He jumped back from the elevator, pressing his back against the hallway door. He closed his eyes and remembered what his psychologist had taught him. To avoid a panic attack I must realize it is all in my head. Take five deep breaths, then open your eyes, he told himself. He exhaled all the air from his lungs, forcing out the air until he nearly collapsed. Without opening his eyes he began to slowly fill his chest. He pulled a steady stream of fresh air through his nose and into his anxious lungs. His body slowly began to upright itself and at the apex of his breath he could once again feel the wall sturdily behind his back and head. He held his breath for as long as possible before allowing it to burst from his mouth. He repeated this process four more times before opening his eyes again.


As he opened his eyes he could feel a calm neutralizing the ebb of anxiety that had temporarily crippled his reason. He stared at the still-unlit elevator button. He decided to give it another try. He stepped forward and pressed the button. Again, no lights and none of the accompanying sounds he expected. The anxiety flared once more in the pit of his stomach. It spread painfully throughout his limbs like an unholy venom. He tried to shut his eyes and breathe five more controlled breaths, but he could no longer control his breath nor the panic clanging in his mind. He decided to rush back to his apartment in order to take a tranquilizer. He did not like taking the medicine that early in the morning, but he knew that sometimes it was the only cure for his panic attacks.

He rambled down the hall to his apartment door, frantically searching his pockets for his keys. For a moment his panic nearly brought him to his knees. The air seemed to be sucked from his lungs like a billow in reverse. Just as he felt himself losing consciousness he found his keys in his back pocket. He exhaled a loud breath of relief and tried to ignore his shaking hands as he unlocked his door and stepped into his apartment. He ran to his bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. He found his pills and emptied twice the normal dosage into his palm. He threw them into his mouth and drank some water directly from the tap. He splashed water on his face then dried it off with one of his plush hand-towels. He stood staring at his reflection, waiting for his medicine to start working. After some time had passed, he began to feel the numbing effect of the medicine calming his screeching nerves.

He left the bathroom and walked back to his foyer, but stopped at the front door. He bowed his head and took another deep breath. This is all in my head, he reminded himself as he once again left the comfort of his apartment. He opened the door and carefully locked it behind him. He shoved his keys into his pocket, but when he turned around to once more try his luck with the elevator he found himself on the balcony of his apartment. A new shock and dismay stirred within him. He looked out upon the city around him, yet everything seemed normal. He could not fathom how he had ended up on his balcony. He turned around and opened the sliding patio door to his apartment. He rushed through the glass door and into his bedroom. He was too distracted to pull the door closed behind him. Cold air poured into the quiet apartment.

The man spun around in his bedroom, examining every detail to ensure that he was, in fact, still in his own bedroom. Everything appeared just the same: his bed meticulously made, the dresser and night stand in perfect order and without a speck of dust. Exasperated, he ran back to his bathroom to take another dose of pills. These things must have gone bad, he thought. He grabbed the pill bottle, but just as he was about to pour another dose into his palm the phone in his apartment started to ring. He put the pills in the medicine cabinet and ran to his kitchen where the phone continued to ring.

“Hello,” he half-screamed into the phone. A moment of silence passed before, to his horror, he heard the sound of his own voice, “Hello.”

“Who is this? You must stop this at once or I will call the police!” he screamed. Another brief silence, followed by the haunting sound of his echoed voice: “Who is this? You must stop this at once or I will call the police!”

He slammed the phone down onto the receiver. He picked it back up and dialed 9-1-1. The phone rang for some time before someone answered.

“Hello?” said a muffled voice.

“Yes, please you must help me! Something is happening and I am trapped in my apartment. Please come at once!”

“Hello?” said the muffled voice again. He repeated his plea, but to his dismay the muffled voice began to parrot his plea back to him: “Yes, please you must help me! Something is happening . . .”

He threw the phone on the ground in terror. He looked around his kitchen for some sign that perhaps he was trapped in a dream. But everything looked undeniably real. He resolved to once more leave his apartment and make a dash for the elevator, stairs or any escape whatsoever from his floor. He ran out of his kitchen toward the foyer, but as soon as he left his kitchen, instead of entering the foyer as he should have, he found himself back in his bedroom. Somehow the patio door had been shut, but other than the now shut door everything looked normal. Panic consumed him. He began sprinting from room to room of his apartment, but every time he exited one room he found himself in an unexpected room in his own apartment. After several iterations of running through a door just to find himself in the wrong room, he finally noticed he could not find his way back to the foyer or his bedroom. He could only run laps through various rooms of his apartment with no exit from any of them.

Exhaustion began to set in on the man. He stopped running when he found himself in his bathroom and he reached for the remaining pills. The only answer he could surmise was to sleep this whole episode away from his memory. Surely someone will come looking for me, he thought to himself as he threw back a hand-full of his pills. He turned on the sink faucet and swallowed the pills with another hand-full of cold water. He left the sink running and slumped to the floor to wait for the inevitable blackness of sleep. The sound of the running water soothed him, or maybe the drugs were simply working more quickly than he anticipated. He placed his face on the cold tile floor. Before he succumbed to the warmth and emptiness of the darkness that crept over him, he pulled the bathroom door open. In front of him he could see his foyer and his front door. Suddenly, he heard footsteps in his apartment.

“Help!” he muttered with his last bit of consciousness. He wasn’t certain if anyone heard him, but he could hear the footsteps approaching him. Just as he could longer resist the heaviness of his eyelids, someone walked into the foyer but failed to notice him on the bathroom floor. To the man’s amazement, the person in the foyer was no other than himself. The man on the floor screamed in agony at the torment he suffered, but his counterpart in the foyer did not notice. Instead, the man in the foyer calmly unlocked the door, grabbed his coat and walked out of the apartment, briefcase in tow.