When I woke up in the backrooms, I didn’t realize I was actually *In* the backrooms. The strange, displaced quality of everything was the tip off. The ambient tensile hum of fluorescent lighting.
The intense beigeness of the beige. The carpet padding was truly A plus. At least wherever there was carpet. I’m glad I wore comfortable shoes.
After the third grouping of disconnected monuments, overly colorful slides, and abstract art statues, I wished for a suggestion box. Better playground fill would be a vast improvement. Shredded tires sometimes left little metal threads exposed. I don’t remember when I got my last tetanus booster.
Does anyone? Really?
They didn’t make it easy, but I eventually cornered one of them, in the room with the giant teal balloons. Shadow people are poor conversationalists. Preferring to stare at me awkwardly, when I tried to talk them into wearing clothes. I guess they only liked to watch. And it did, as I walked away.
I read somewhere that mid century modern is making a comeback. If the arms that erupted from the wallpaper had mouths, I might have asked their opinion. But they didn’t seem that interested in chatting either. Or shaking hands.
Hallways opened into uninteresting throughways. Passageways often closed into dead ends. I found myself in a classroom, sage green chalkboard, full of ghostly eraser swirls, and lift-top desks. A molded plastic lunchbox sat. An image of Alf embossed on its cover. Inside I found what would be my maybe lunch, or maybe dinner. What time was it anyway?
The sandwich wasn’t bad. American cheese on wheat in a clear sandwich bag. A juice box with a picture of an apple. The fruit roll-up was a nice touch. I always liked fruit snacks.
While I ate, my mind wandered. Mom once told me to always wear clean underwear. I remembered. They, like my conscience, were clean. Idly strolling down these cloyingly ambivalent hallways, I discovered a clean conscience wasn’t always a good thing. Something to ruminate on would have been nice.
Maybe I’ll add that to the suggestion box, if I ever find one.
-KC
He was trapped
in an infinite liminal space.
His main complaint:
the playground fill
could be improved.
— AËLA
I love how you left us with so much questions. The narrator's thoughts seeming to pick up and mirror the mundane-turned -eerie aspect of the environment he found himself in made the story feel an unusual and fascinating mixture of cozy and foreboding. I loved it! 💚