I guess it won't hurt to continue this oddball tale. I'm not sure where it's going or how it'll end, but some of my best stories have been written that way.

'Tis a humble little chapter, but will do.


Chapter 2: Pushing

The smartly dressed man at the hotel counter raised his head as the elevator lowered itself snugly into the lobby. The great silver doors gave a muffled shudder and began to slide apart. Someone fell against them from the inside before they had fully slid open, and he stood up in alarm. "Excuse me! Do you need help?"
He jogged up to the man who had stumbled out into the lobby and onto the carpet, the scuffed floral pattern dusting his knees. Behind him, the elevator doors closed themselves with a smooth whirr; it hummed almost in satisfaction as it ascended upwards, as if having ejected a rather irritating guest from its premises. The hotel worker knelt down with concern beading on his lips. "Are you all right?" he asked, hauling the fallen man's suitcase upright. The man slowly raised his head.
Lank, greasy hair dripped over a high, pale brow, sliding like oil into hooded eyes... but what eyes! The fading blood red of the carpet was visible in the dim pupils, and then you realized, as the poor hotel worker was realizing, that you were staring at the section of floor behind the man's back... you could look straight through his eyes and through his head and...
The hotel worker had flung himself away and was lying on the floor on his side, his suit twisted up around his waist and dust marks on his back.
A pale, spindly hand reached out and clasped the handle of the suitcase in stick-like fingers, as if trying to slowly strangle it in its grip. The man stood up, the images in his eyes flickering from the floor to the wall as he did so. The hotel worker jerked his head back as he tried to follow those eyes with his own, shuffling away on his back with quick, frightened movements. He looked rather like the small animal whose blood had been spilled on the carpet in room 519, thought the man fleetingly. He was about to take a step towards the cowering hotel worker but thought better of it.
Instead, he closed his eyes and looked down, a sigh escaping from his pale lips.
"I'd like to check out..."

Once out on the street, the sunlight struck him from head to toe as he stood on the bleached bone of the sidewalk. He looked almost surprised, as if he hadn't expected the sun to have survived its nighttime ordeal; but it always ressurected itself at dawn, like a vengeful phoenix. He twisted away from its burning eye and slunk away, dragging his battered suitcase behind him as passerby stared at his whitened skin.
He was too clumsy these days, not caring whether his foot was going in the right direction or not... If he wasn't more careful, there'd be more scenes like that in the hotel he'd just left, and almost more than anything he wanted people to stop looking at him, to keep their eyes trained straight in front, to continue life without him.
But more than anything, he wanted to go to sleep. To lie down on a bed, close his eyes, and be able to drown himself in the sea of darkness locked behind his eyelids.
The desire forced its way into his throat, choking him with its terrifying unattainability, and he panicked as he did so frequently these days... Mind buzzing horribly, eyes fighting to escape their dark rings of skin, the man lashed out and encountered the smooth, cool surface of a glass door. He pushed with an animalistic sense of urgency and desperation and in his maddened state failed to notice the large red letters imprinting the metal door handle.
They read "Pull".


Hmmm... This guy is a freak. I'll introduce a new character in the next chapter so we don't have to watch this poor guy flail around in public places every single time.

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