sanama

The rays of light through a keyhole. Steam caused by exhalation, though it was July. Morolko wasn’t sure from which side the sun came.

“If only I could widen my range of…”, said Morolko without finishing the sentence. To end up in a desolate hallway like that. It had either been a long walk or a bus ride, perhaps the news of the day were already over and Morolko wouldn’t be witnessing the winning numbers of the lottery he didn’t participate in. Well, he did participate but not in a way he could prove it, as it happened to be with most events in his life. Nothing happened within the frames, where it was supposed to happen and making others believe his stories was as pointless as telling someone, that on the other day the sun had personally greeted him. 

Morolko moved back and forth in the hallway to find out, at what points the wooden floor squeaked. He crawled on all fours from the entrance to the door of a room and reached so close, that his nose slightly touched the door leaving a tiny fat stain. Immediately he took a wipe from his pocket to remove the stain, which caused bits of the door’s paint to scale off due to his thorough handling. After the door’s latest memories were removed, Morolko remained sitting on the floor, exhausted. He noticed having no idea of how long he had been there.

A slow fatigue began taking over Morolko’s body. It was like having combined severe deficiencies of magnesium and potassium. Each muscle was dragging themselves to a different direction, causing cramps and a sensation of a strange serenity. “The orangeness, turning dim.” said  Morolko as the light in the hallway was fading. It could have been Tuesday but he wasn’t wearing the starry silk boxers, meaning the next day’s lunch would be pea soup. 

The walk, the hallway, where someone had installed lights, that reminded Morolko of brimstone butterflies. The keyhole. Touching the door handle would have been a further proof of having been there. Last time he already broke all his principles. Normally he would have preferred to remain outside in things he was committed to. Now he was here without really knowing what meant ’here’ or what made him return. There was not a single event taking place in that hallway, maybe not even inside of that one room. Still, for Morolko just the mere possibility of coming close to a truth was enough for him to fall into something. “Damn the peas, not a silent food.” whispered Morolko, as if imagining a partner in crime next to him. The growling stomach echoed so that on the other side someone could have thought there was a cat purring in the building. Morolko’s heart was pounding nervously. Just on the verge of taking action, he heard steps somewhere in the other end of the building. It was impossible to see anyone, since the hallway had a slight curve to it. Morolko decided it would be best to disappear before someone accused him for trespassing.

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The day had not begun, and yet it was already over. Morolko laid crooked on his sofa, his naked legs flowing down to the floor like overcooked noodles. He stared into his tiny attic room without a focus point. He had fallen into a new chronological order, where every event lasted 12 seconds. The brain would cut every sentence that had more than 4 words to it. The position of the body reminded of a folding chair.

A night of sirens. The skies broke and fell down on Morolko as he was taking a walk. Outside factors rarely had an effect on Morolko. He would have continued walking with a rock in his shoe until the rock eventually found its own way out. Unconciously, or so Morolko liked to think, he had been getting closer to a familiar building. As his senses began to sharpen by the adrenaline rush, he noticed he was circling his target, preying on it. The construction, which attracted Morolko, didn’t differ much from any other worn-out industrial building in that area. Inconspicuously, he sneaked to the entrance, that had an empty nicotine-yellow sign above it. 

“This isn’t weird, right?”, Morolko thought as if asking for a permission from some universal being.

“Worse things have… right, or worse people…” Morolko reassured himself and stepped into the hallway.

By this point, Morolko knew how to arrive at the door without causing any creaking in the floor. It was necessary to step on an intersection of two planks, preferably land the foot on all four nails. The optimal path towards the door had a form of a lightning, because one of the planks was missing a nail and had turned soft on one end, possibly a damage caused by water. In case the water had dripped from above, the ceiling had been fixed by now. “Lucky you.” blurted Morolko in a high-pitched voice and broke into an uncontrollable laughter while holding both of his hands in front of his mouth. He might have been the only one, who knew the floor was dangerous and could severely hurt someone taking a careless step.

The sirens were still howling outside. Maybe there was a window open somewhere in the building. Morolko remembered having seen a video about foods, that contain potassium. “Bananas, oranges, hmmm winter squash…” he murmured like dictating a shopping list to himself, although he hadn’t been to the grocery store since last August. Here is a hokkaido pie you just cannot resist. Walking in the striped cotton underwear, that were too small felt like a punishment of having entered the building once again. 

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Since having the first encounter with the hallway, Morolko had been developing a severe insomnia. If he could fall asleep, the dreams would be repetitive and linear dreams of entering to the building. The mayor of Cravento talks about the cream between Oreos and gets shot in the stomach. Every time was equally unspectacular, but despite that, Morolko kept up hopes of coming across something sublime, that would have the energy of directing him towards another time or dimension. In the hallway he had to balance on the edge of the universe. Every move could have been a turning point to an enlightenment or a complete, self-destructive oblivion. Three ways of creating your own reality.

In the small hours of a weekday, when Morolko was supposed to wear the sterile-white slip, after 16 minutes of sleep, three jugs of pumpkin spiced latte, he was ready to face the truth. He took the straightest route to the building, the one with the most traffic lights, in order to prepare for whatever was coming. Top three countries to declare a war against. The changing rhythms between walking and standing at red lights looking on his phone soon melted into one dissonant duration. “Only…I can prove myself…finish this.” 

Morolko was in a delirious state as he arrived. Hokkaido lobster pasta that turns you into a murderer. He could remain aware in the present moment only for 7 seconds before falling into a flow of lucid reels. Despite Morolko’s verging on insanity, he was flawlessly able to track the right route to the door. An ominous brightness pushed itself under the door to the hallway. “In the room…the light!” Morolko screamed. His voice echoed all around the building in a way that could have woken up any individual inhabiting the space. The echo took over the building, as the structures, walls and windows began to shake and give up. “Is this because of magnesium? It doesn’t hold anymore! I need to get out!” 

There was a loud smash and a few more crackles after that. Before getting himself completely crushed by the building, Morolko looked around for a temporary safe. As he reflexively opened the door to the room, an overwhelming whiteness seized his eyes. The room seemed as if the reality would have been removed from it. There was nothing. Morolko stepped backwards towards the exit. He opened the exit door and fell on his back on the floor. “The whiteness…it has…or I’ve been… eradicated.”