Shambles

Nothing I see makes any sense. Everything is in a complete disarray. I live in a small studio apartment, just with one big room sectioned into a living area. But where I am now, is not a small apartment. Where I’m standing, there are so many rooms, with brown wooden doors. I own only a few things in my house that are worthwhile. But, I’m in a luxurious house, a mansion if you’d call it. I only saw such glitters and palaces on the covers of magazines or postcards. So, where I’m? What am doing in someone’s house? How did I even get here?

It feels surreal. I hope it’s just a dream, not a nightmare.

I am in the middle of a big room. The room has lots of windows and curtains, and all the blindfolds are fully shut. I only see a dim light at the end corner of the room, where the stairs are. Wait, stairs? My house doesn’t have stairs. Everything feels weird and are out of places. I close my eyes and open them again. Still, nothing changes. I am not in my usual house.

I managed to tiptoe towards the dim light and opened the curtains. Then I found all the light switches and turned the lights on. The room is now lit with lots of shiny lights, like the heavens you’d see in Hollywood movies. There are so many shiny and expensive items in the room, yet covered with dust. This is definitely not my house.

First of all, I hate dust. I mean that in a literal sense, because I’m allergic to moist and dust. This room smells so dump. That’s how I know, this is not my room. Everything is different. Second, the room is full of items I’ve never had—expensive jewelry, chandeliers, China cabinet, wooden mahogany dining table, or red dusty coaches. A red coach? Hell no! I am a fashionable man to know that the red coach doesn’t go with my living room. And on top of that, I can’t even afford to buy a sofa, let alone paintings I had only seen in modern art museums, which are now hanging on the walls of this strange dusty room. Everywhere. I don’t have a multi-level family house. But, I am staring at the walls going upstairs, they’re decorated with family portraits and photos in age orders. I can tell that by the way they’re arranged. I’m never married nor ever I had any kids. I’m the only child and never have I met my parents.

However, what my eyes see does not add up. It feels like I’m in a vault. Am I? Was I kidnapped and being framed for a robbery? I begin to shiver and look for an exit door, so I can just open it and run as fast as I could. But, I don’t know which one is the exit door though.

Too many valuables for one room to hold. This is absolutely not my room.

I only have a few things in my room. I sleep on an old worn out mattress on the floor, not on the bed. I have a computer desk. I look around and can’t find any of them. My wallet and car key are missing. I don’t see my 55 inch TV in my small and cozy living room. I don’t see my bookshelves. Oh no, where are my books? I don’t care losing anything, but not my books. I have collections of books from all genres. My entire living room is basically built into continuously attached bookshelves; it is rather a library than a living area, I suppose. I live and breathe books. Now, they’re gone. I see a sign that read “Library,” which I never had.

My head is spinning out of control as if I’m orbiting around the sun. Where am I? Where the fuck did all my stuff go? What’s that lavender smell? It is coming from the candles, lit and sitting on the long dining table.

As I look for a place to sit and unwind, I see someone walking towards me. She is tall, wore aprons, white shirts with black skirts and flat black shoes with white socks. When she gets close, her eyes look away and down politely. She puts her two hands behind her back and says, ”Excuse me Mr. Lockwood, there is a phone call for you. I forwarded it to your library desk.” I was really stunned. I frowned at her, as if she insulted me on public. My mind couldn’t process the latest information she just uploaded into my mainframes. I tried to speak but no words came out of my mouth. Finally, I managed to say, “I am sorry, who did you call me?” My eyes now are even opened widely and eagerly awaiting for her response. To my surprise, she said, “Are you okay Mr. Lockwood?”

She’s still standing there, until I responded. But, I remained silent.

My mind begins its quest. Where am I? Who am I?

Though nothing is still making much sense, I am processing all the available raw data. Maybe, just maybe, there is a chance that I might be who she said I am.

“Mr. Lockwood!”