{"id":2115,"date":"2016-02-11T16:44:45","date_gmt":"2016-02-11T16:44:45","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/sanborns.org\/word_press\/?p=2115"},"modified":"2016-09-12T16:45:48","modified_gmt":"2016-09-12T16:45:48","slug":"short-story-dont-go-up","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/sanborns.org\/word_press\/short-story-dont-go-up\/","title":{"rendered":"Short Story: Don\u2019t Go Up"},"content":{"rendered":"

Where am I? Oh my God, I have an even bigger question<\/em>. Who am I?<\/em><\/p>\n

The room is a barren cement block and a cot squeaks under my bum. To my right is a porcelain toilet and sink. I stand and notice an empty wastebasket.<\/p>\n

No wait! It\u2019s not empty. I think I see\u2026 yes! A note!<\/em> \u201cI am you. Don\u2019t leave.\u201d Well, that\u2019s a stupid note.<\/em> I crumple it and toss it back. A movement catches my eye. I turn and see myself in the mirror. My head is bandaged. Perhaps this means I\u2019m not a prisoner in a jail, but a patient in a hospital\u2026 I hope.<\/p>\n

My fingers grope my unfamiliar face. My jaw is scratchy and unshaven. My body is lanky and middle-aged. At least my biceps seem strong. I feel cold. Crumpled on the bed lies a white jacket. I try it on but the sleeves keep going without a hole to let my hands out. I drape the stupid fabric over my shoulders and walk to the iron door. I take a deep breath and push.<\/p>\n

It creaks open and based on what I see out there, I consider letting it slam shut again. A far off klaxon echoes across a dungeonous cavern. Dozens of people of varying ages, all wearing white, wander around confused.<\/p>\n

A woman is sitting in front of the next door. Her chaotic hair swishes over her face and dark crescents adorn her haunted eyes. She rubs her hands and with each rub she raspily repeats, \u201cDon\u2019t go upstairs.\u201d I can\u2019t tell if she is telling this to me or to herself. I walk past her, over to the metal railing and cringe at the deep drop. The floor is shadowed in the darkness.<\/p>\n

A little girl startles me by grasping my hand. Her raven hair is pulled harshly back in pigtails making her eyes seem even wider. She skips and drags me towards some metal stairs. \u201cYou are needed.\u201d She says with intensity. \u201cWe must go up.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs it safe?\u201d I ask her.<\/p>\n

\u201cNothing is safe.\u201d She giggles with a cackling voice. \u201cYou must come up.\u201d She continues on, skipping up the stairs, two at a time. Her steps echo even after she is out of sight.<\/p>\n

I would rather face untold miseries than continue not knowing who I am. My feet are bound in a morass of fear. Pulling them free is like slurping them from a tar pit. I trudge up the stairs.<\/p>\n

A red-haired, freckle-faced boy grimaces at me. He is staring intently at me but I have no clue what he wants. I start to walk past when I feel a sting at my ankle. \u201cStay and play.\u201d He says as he reloads another rubber-band on his finger. He points it and fires it at my chest. \u201cStay and play.\u201d<\/p>\n

I walk away fast, and then faster and soon I\u2019m running for all I\u2019m worth, down corridors and up stairs all the way to the top. I open the doors to a white light.<\/p>\n

I open my eyes and remember who I am. I know what I\u2019ve done. The world I knew and loved is gone. My wife and two children are dead. My God, the pain!<\/em> Oh, how I long to return to oblivion. I close my eyes and weep.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Where am I? Oh my God, I have an even bigger question. Who am I? The room is a barren cement block and a cot squeaks under my bum. To my right is a porcelain toilet and sink. I stand and notice an empty wastebasket. No wait! It\u2019s not empty. I think I see\u2026 yes! […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[14],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2115","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-writing"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/sanborns.org\/word_press\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2115","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/sanborns.org\/word_press\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/sanborns.org\/word_press\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sanborns.org\/word_press\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sanborns.org\/word_press\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2115"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/sanborns.org\/word_press\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2115\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2116,"href":"https:\/\/sanborns.org\/word_press\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2115\/revisions\/2116"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/sanborns.org\/word_press\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2115"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sanborns.org\/word_press\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2115"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sanborns.org\/word_press\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2115"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}