Okay, super quick note. I’ll save more contextual reasoning for when people might care about this more. I’m dying to talk your ear off. In short, this is my totally unoriginal plagiarism of the transcript from Mortos’ SCP-3008. It’s just a rework of the idea with a lot of detail that nobody asked for. It’s gonna…. well, I’ll talk to you soon. Here’s parts 1 & 2 since they’re a lot shorter than all the others.
Thanks! (Good luck, this thing’s a mess).
-JLD (_1979_twilight_)

————————— PART ONE —————————

Something fell into my stomach.

Something expanded in my stomach.

Something left a hole in my world for its father to crawl through.

Something left a beacon in my dreams.

“Future? Did you just say ‘future’? Are you sick? Are you even awake right now?! What the hell is wrong with you?! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?! YOU ARROGANT PIECE OF DOGSHIT YOU BETTER PRAY! KING FUCKING DAVID! BUT YOU KNOW WHAT?! I SERIOUSLY DOUBT THAT ANYONE, AND I MEAN ANYONE, WOULD EVER LISTEN TO SOMEONE AS WORTHLESSLY GULLIBLE AS-“

 

A more than satisfying crunch stretched the room as my foot smashed into the top shelf of the bedside table, immediately crumpling it.

Crumpling isn’t a good word, decimating is better.

I guess it felt good in a way. A twisted anger-lust had slowly creeped into the muscles of my leg, begging to be gratified.

Yeah, it felt pretty good. For about five seconds.

It was replaced pretty immediately afterwards with the realization of how dumb that mental relief was. I suppose the consequence of my furniture being destroyed was not enough, as was made pretty obvious by a searing pain in my right foot.

“Goddammit”.

I started muttering awkwardly to myself as I dropped to the floor, resting my back on the side of my bed. I inhaled through my teeth, as I took my bare foot in my hands and did my best to stretch it towards myself. It didn’t look too ugly, despite how hysterically hideous it felt.

“Great fucking plan, asshole”.

It felt as though my foot had shot that line up to the front desk. I didn’t blame it, it wasn’t my brightest moment.

There were a couple small splinters lodged pretty shallowly in the skin. I had the slightest resolve to think that the thing was already on its way out to break from a small tantrum like that.

I would have to get up and get some tweezers from the vanity, but I was currently wrapped in a pretty comfortable hopelessness there on the ground. I wasn’t having the best day. I suppose it wasn’t horrible…. comparably. I stood up and focused on how unhappy it would make me to try and walk, rather than... that.
I did a half limp-half hop over to the bathroom, and sat down on the edge of the tub. It was comfortable, but I kept feeling just one inch away from falling backwards.
I made it easier on myself and put my whole body right into the tub. The confined space made it easier to keep my foot elevated towards me.

Tweezers in hand, I distracted myself from the pain by filling my mind with random thoughts. It only took thirty seconds to realize I’d rather focus on the pain.
I spent the next ten minutes making sure there was no sizable pieces left. I cleaned the wound and bandaged it the best I could whilst trying to keep my mind blank. Even after such a karma riddled event, I couldn’t promise myself I wouldn’t do the same thing somewhere else with my fist. I didn’t have proper bandages lying around, so I had to settle for two of the largest band aids I could find in the medicine cabinet. Both different sizes, both not exactly wrapping comfortably around the bottom of my foot.

As I finished, I stood there staring at myself in the mirror for far too long a moment.

What the hell am I supposed to do with myself?

Anything that isn’t what you’ve done before.

-

My stomach offered a good distraction some five minutes later. I hadn’t eaten breakfast, I wouldn’t have kept it down, but no matter how much turmoil was convincing me otherwise, I needed lunch.

My fridge and cabinet harmoniously laughed at that with empty shelves. Stale chips, beer (what was left from last night), and milk (expired). Chunky tortilla chip cereal didn’t sound like the most appealing meal.

I went into my contacts.

-

His desk phone rang for much longer than it usually did. If Chandler was busy, he declined calls. He was always busy, but he always called back within the hour. If he was somehow available, he never failed to answer within two rings. I was on ring ten when his hesitant answer came.

“….. Hello?”

He also never answered the phone like that.

“Hey man, ya know when you’ll be done today? There’s no food, like literally none. Can you stop by the store on your way?”

Silence hung on the line. I didn’t need to be told, verbally or otherwise, that Chandler was exceedingly unhappy with me. That silence was, to be honest, somewhat unnecessarily hurtful.

“Can you call Tobias about this? I have plans tonight.”

My stomach grumbled unhappily at that.

“You know Toby doesn’t have shit. I’ll pay you back, I just… I’m a little out of the idea of leaving the house.”

More silence. I wasn’t exactly different from our roommate, Toby, when it came to money. Chandler had always been the breadwinner of us three. Rich parents, but never pampered, always hardworking. With Toby and I agreeably below average when it came to not only money, but work ethic, Chandler had more than taken us under his wing as we grew up.

“Nobody is going to recognize you, just wear a hoodie. I’m not your mother, Cody.”

I considered telling him that my reasoning for isolation was currently focused on my injury, but explaining how that injury occurred seemed more emotional trouble than tricking him into thinking I wasn't paranoid.

I desperately tried to lighten the conversation up. I needed a friend right now.

“What uhh… what kind of plans you got? Hot date?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know”

“Hm, I actually asked because I don’t want to know at all… is he hot?”

“Heh, hotter than you two”.

A brief moment of salvation shined on me as that laugh came through the phone, but I could almost audibly hear his small smile fade.

“Cody, listen. I’m probably not coming home tonight. I have no idea what Toby is doing, but if you want food, your options are him or nothing... You know, unless you’re gonna stop convincing yourself that you need to stay locked in that room for the rest of your life. There’s a reason you’re here and not the alternative."

I wasn’t sure what to say to that, and just when I thought I couldn’t be more lost, he did something he had never done in the thirteen years of our friendship.

Chandler hung up on me. No goodbye, just the dial tone.

-

Not only did I know Toby would not have money, I couldn’t risk hearing him just as unenthusiastic. Hearing someone as bright and jovial as Toby consistently seemed to be with a disdain like that?

I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it. So, I was on my own. I walked back into my room.

I felt the need to cry, but I have a condition. I can cry unexpectedly to a movie, tear up to a good song.

Blunt emotion seems to have a way of leaving me just far enough away that I'm never able to relieve myself by weeping.

I looked at the mess against the far wall. Old CD’s, dusty Rolling Stone's, random documents, bank statements I was too lazy to find a proper place for, all strew in a mess on the floor, my now shattered lamp lying on top of the heap. That seemed especially excessive. How did it even shatter?

In the heap of contents, and what remained of the table, I spotted my key ring. I thought for a second about what Chandler had said, and considered the appeal of trapping myself in this room. I was scared, horrified maybe, and didn’t really know why. The complacent paradise of never seeing the outside world again was more than tempting, but I knew it wasn’t feasible. I grabbed my keys from the mess. It wasn’t much, but I felt the very real possibility of never being able to leave again if I didn’t leave right now. A familiar ultimatum.

Stepping outside genuinely felt like a very mature decision on my part. It almost made me happy.

-

-

Just because a decision seems to be the mature one, doesn’t mean it’s the right one. That was a concept my small immature brain was nowhere near ready to wrap itself around.

I didn’t have a good resume of experience with mature decisions, but eating a far too expensive cheeseburger in an abandoned parking lot didn’t feel as emotionally rewarding as I thought it would. It was 5:44 PM, despite my cars clock claiming it to be 7:23 AM. What remained of the sunlight was starting to burn an orange tint that flooded my interior. I basked in its warmth, not so ready to return home as myself.

Toby would be home by now. The shame that had made me avoid a phone call would surely be there in person.

“Christ.”

I couldn’t go there but, well, it was home. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. My parents? Even if I made the drive of peregrination that I wasn’t sure I could afford, I’m not convinced the story would be different. A hotel? Yeah, because I’m sure that’s less expensive. Stay here? Sleep in my car? Is that how far I’m willing to go to avoid that confrontation?

Truthfully, no. The feeling of sleeping in a back seat would surely not help my mental state. Thinking of my bed led my mind to picture the mess beside it.

I slammed the wheel with my fist.

Toby definitely would’ve seen it. I hadn’t even thought about what my already skeptical friends would think seeing a scene like that. Maybe sleeping in my car wasn’t so bad. I sat there hopelessly, but realized that sitting here hopelessly isn’t helping. I can’t be scared of going home. I could wait for them to go to sleep, but I’m not sure that coming home at 5:00 AM would be any less suspicious. I couldn’t run away from this. I needed to fix it.

How? How do I fix something as broken as this?

-

The next thought was not my own, looking back, I know that. That... thing had put it there.

The logic didn’t make much sense, but I was lost and scared, so I accepted it as if it was the only original thought I’d ever had in my life.

-

“I need a bedside table”.

I guess it wasn’t too far fetched. Maybe if I came home with a replacement immediately, my roommates would believe that the wood simply had just given out. Chandler will be smarter, but Toby won't. If I play it off well enough to Toby, maybe he'll never even think to mention it around Chandler. If anything, it would save me from them thinking I’ve gone completely insane.

That was enough to make me shoot my key back into the ignition.

-

I had never been there before, not by myself. I have faint memories of my brothers and I being dragged there by our mother once or twice. I never really got the Internet trope. I never found it very realistic, and that was coming from someone who had only ever been there as a delusional child.

As a delusional adult, I wasn’t the kind of guy who felt themselves intelligent enough to spoil a joke, to point out its holes, but that one always felt weird to me for some reason. The children getting lost like the aisles were dark woods. If anything, there was always something that made me a little, what’s the best word, uneasy? I was into a lot dark stuff. I wasn’t somebody who browsed Bestgore or anything like that, but spending enough time on the Internet brandishes that side of the world to you whether you like it or not. I just enjoyed the supernatural, the obscure. I certainly wasn’t sheltered, or innocent. I was confident enough to say that I was not easily fazed.

When I hear a disturbing story on the Internet, it's always just that. A story on the Internet. Never a warning. So a dumb joke with a somewhat sinister undertone shouldn't affect me. However, I always felt like there was something there that I just wasn’t “getting”. It perplexed me. I never looked too far into it, yet I desperately wanted to understand the punchline of the joke.

After all, it was just a joke. A joke on the Internet.

-

I pull into the parking lot. Well, one of them. The view out the window almost made me put the car immediately into reverse. It was a lot of people, a lot more than I thought there would be. It was technically the holiday season. November 13th; basically Christmas Eve. I was thinking for a second that it would be best to be honest with my friends. They would understand. I’m going through a hard time. I did something dumb, again, but they’ve always been there for me before. It might take them some time, but that was more than fair. Eventually, they would be there for me.

Extremely regrettably, I wasn’t so easily convinced by that sentiment.

The song on my radio is skipping weirdly. Pearl Jam sucks anyway, turn that shit off.

I closed the car door. As the lock horn beeped behind me, a wave of melancholy seemed to breathe down my neck. Something felt very final about the motion in which my body just moved. I can’t describe it but, in some way, it felt like my life had transparently flashed before my eyes. I paused for a moment and looked around nervously. The feeling of finality probably came from my unconscious knowledge that it was my last chance to see the warning signs around me. I should've known that the decision had been made a long time ago. I didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter.

But my conscious self didn’t hear that small debate. He simply walked into the gaping front entrance and stepped onto the escalator. It slowly brought me into the fold, bodies piling on behind me, putting a crowd between me and, what I would later find to be, my last meeting with freedom.

-

If you’re paranoid that they recognize you now, just wait.

————————— PART TWO —————————

“All rise the jury.”

Let it go? Are you fucking kidding?!

“I’m calling a recess. You will not come back with that same unbridled-I’m not tolerating it-we could set another date to return and you WILL be kept in custody until then. Do you want that?…. Mr. Camargo?… Mr. Camargo I’m stepping off the bench… Mr. Camargo I need your verbal confirmation… Mr. Camargo!”

 

It was weird for sure. Isles and checkouts and food courts. It could, in theory, just be a giant mall. However, the whole place felt very uncanny.

Uncanny isn’t a good word, eerie is better.

Intentional for sure, but I’m not sure the eerie feeling was the intentional bit. Everywhere you went was almost like walking by a window into somebody’s living room, bathroom, kitchen, bedroom, etc. It was to a point where it almost seemed as if I was in a security room, watching surveillance of hundreds of houses all around the world. Actually, the scene of scolding parents chasing down children made it slightly more realistic, yet maybe not so unnerving. The bouncing on beds and crawling on countertops part was pretty funny. It was just a typical stressful crowd beyond the setting. One that I was just as indifferent to as all the others. Once you’ve seen one influx of random strangers, you truly have seen them all.

I like being alone by choice. I don’t think I have agoraphobia, it’s just easier. Less people means less thought to go into what you’re acting like around them.
Chandler and Toby were always good friends in a way that respected that. I payed my share of the rent and utilities like the other two, mostly Chandler, did as well, but I never strayed from my room very much. When I did, the two were welcoming to any small amount of conversation I felt was needed to recharge me from a self induced depressive state. We would laugh the entire night. Sure, almost always was it under heavy intoxication, but we didn’t need it to know that we all prided ourselves on our ability to not think about anyone or anything else in the world together.

They were the perfect friends. I never felt the need to hide anything from them, so I don’t exactly blame them. In fact, I don’t blame them at all. I had sort of broken an unspoken trust pact between the three of us. Well, sort of is definitely sugarcoating. I had absolutely shattered it for months on end. Still, no matter how deserved it was, the idea that I might never have that safe space again was painful. The idea that I might have exiled myself from that one in a trillion emotional safe haven that they were to me. They were like family.

Were.

-

What the hell is wrong with me? I need to stop thinking or I’m going to go insane.

I just walked for ten minutes without looking for a bedside table. I was like a slightly below middle aged kid in a candy store. Just honestly enjoying the views kept my simple mind occupied pretty easily. The displays were incredibly homey, no matter what strange meshing context surrounded them, Everything was comforting to stare at. The crowds were slightly annoying, but not enough to take me out of what was honestly a pretty relaxing setting. I probably walked past about fifty bedside tables that looked way nicer and fit my room better than my previous one, but I was just out for a stroll.

About what felt like half an hour in, I stumbled onto the cafe. I had already eaten some gourmet Five Guys, and I barely had any comfort money, but sill, I felt compelled to get the full experience. I’d say American consumerism at its finest if I felt even relatively close to an American establishment at the moment.

-

I treated myself to some chicken tenders and a can of sprite, as I occupied a two top next to the beautiful vista of parking lot.

I pulled out my phone and cycled through nothing, trying to pretend I was extremely consumed by whatever I was browsing. In reality, I was mostly just stalking every group that filtered in and out of the tables around me. It was a lot more of a diverse mix than I thought it would be. Not in a cultural sense, more so because I thought of the criteria of IKEA customers to be young couples that were obtaining furniture for the new apartment that they had just taken the leap to sharing, both not accepting much from their parents. There was definitely a good amount of those, but really there was no restriction to who showed up.

Somewhat large groups of teens were one of the largest demographic fillers, I guessed all getting a big house to share as they all were soon to be living off-campus. I would think that groups like those would certainly be shooting for pre-furnished spaces, as going through this kind of venture seemed an almost fantastically undesirable burden on their already negative bank account balances.

Lots of middle aged couples with particle-accelerator children, usually two to three per couple, as mentioned before. Moving house I guess? Maybe just looking for the fun of it. When you’re neck-deep in the 9-5 infinitum of family life, I’m sure the idea of a different coffee table than the one your overworked husband has been resting his work boots on for the past two decades is almost orgasmically exciting.

One I was definitely surprised by was the sheer amount of older couples I saw. Not to profile, but couples that looked like they both still slept in beds that had been crafted by the at-the-time family man of their lineage about 139 years ago. There’s always time for change I guess, and no two groups were the same as I continued to watch.

Well, that’s not technically true.

The one uninterrupted constant, is that I failed to find a single person that appeared to be there alone.

Cody, thinking. Right, sorry.

I put down my phone, and people-watched out the wall of windows instead. Watching families with giant bellhop-like carts tetrising items into their trunks. I mostly just ended up watching the swaying dead-tree-line that separated the far end of the parking lot and the highway opposite. I rested my cheek on my palm. IKEA didn’t close until 9:00 PM, so I had plenty of time to wallow in a lot more of a spacious environment then I would soon be returning to. I let it decontaminate my mind for a couple minutes, and it worked a lot better than I had thought it would. I hated this time of year. When the trees were dead, everything else in the world looked that way.

I jumped as a knock sounded on the table.

I reeled around to see a man in a chef's uniform smiling down at me, as he placed his knocking arm back behind himself with the other.

“How is everything for you, sir?”

I struggled even to stammer in response. I looked down at the plate of 3.75 chicken strips that I forgot I even had in front of me, then back up to him.

“F-.. fine, thank you.”

“Very good, enjoy!”

He nodded to me affirmatively, and turned to continue to the table behind me. Was that… for real? I mean, there was obviously a kitchen in this place, but I didn’t know a fucking executive chef came out to warm tables in an IKEA cafe. Hell, there are goddamn bougie Italian hack spots that don’t bother themselves with that shit.

I guiltily shoveled the bitten chicken tender in my mouth as I began to get up from the table. I looked back outside the window. The sky was basically black, not only with clouds, but the already dwindling sunlight. A storm was coming tonight. It wasn’t cold enough for snow today, so it would surely be a heavy thunderstorm, my favorite weather.

With giddiness for its approach, I walked with my unfinished meal over to the tray rack. I housed one more chicken finger quickly, downed my sprite, and empty-belched politely into my arm.

As I began to walk again, I realized that even the small addition of food in my stomach had begun to make me somewhat tired. Maybe I had already been tired and sitting down for an extended period of time had really just brought it out of me. I didn’t really want to stay here until 9:00 PM, or even 8:00 PM, but I didn’t walk with any quickened pace. If anything, I started back off slower and more laxed than before.

So eventually, I lost myself again. However, I failed to snap myself out of it this time.

-

Somehow I walked into a forest of fog. It came with a storm above. Lightning. Thundering. Those words raining down on me like hail the size of bodies. I’m so cold and yet so stifled. My stiff body is begging for circulation. My thighs are sweating and my heart-rate is exponentially inconsolable.

Without ever stopping to sit down, I find myself in a chair surrounded by a black endless plain. I feel a crawling over every inch of my paradoxically nude skin. Little tiny tickling needles climbing over my arms and legs, scattered up my back, yet none of my body is truly exposed besides my head. That’s where the real feast is. Millions of tiny pinpricks in the back of my head. So many hairs rearranged to make room for the tiny blades piercing into my skull. I know I’m not moving, but it feels like I am. It feels like I’m sinking, it feels like I’m being ripped this way and that by a tornado, but I can’t move. I’m screaming, I swear I’m screaming at the top of my lungs, but I don’t think it’s loud enough. I can’t even hear my own voice. Someone else’s voice is speaking so softly, and yet so confidently, that it drowns mine out as if it’s nothing.
I want to stand up and run, but something is telling me that it’d be illogical to think I could get away. So I let them feast, as I suffocate inside of my skin.

So many tiny needles, dancing down my spine.

-

-

-

-

“SIR!”

I feel my shoulder being shook like a rag doll as I snap back to attention.

“Sir? Are you alright?”

I looked around. Was I screaming? I had sort of lost myself for a minute there. Had it been a minute? How long was I out for?

“Do you need me to call someone?”

Everybody seems to be looking at me, or at least slowly staring me down as they pass, caring not how obvious it is that they’re judging me. I feel my fist curling.

“SIR!”

I spin back around to the hand on my shoulder.

“WHAT?! WHAT DO YOU WANT?!”

The recoiled face that meets me is wearing a yellow striped shirt. She’s an employee, the four blue letters across the name tag on her top. I want to scream even louder when I see the disgusted face she makes at me. Fucking bitch.

“Sir, I’m trying to see if you’re okay, you were mumbling and shaking in place. I thought maybe you were having a seizu-“

“I’M FINE GODDAMMIT! DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!”

I shouldn’t have been screaming. Not at a woman. Not at all, but especially not at a woman. Not a good time. The paranoia returned. What if somebody recognized me? That couldn’t be anything but bad. I stormed off, practically running.

“SIR!” The woman yelled after me.

I’m not sure how rigid IKEA’s security is, but I wouldn’t like to find out. If I just ran, would she forget about it? The place is huge, who cares about one guy yelling? I told her I was fine.

I ducked around a corner into a bedroom display, and caught my breath for a couple seconds as to not be breathing heavy. I immediately walked back out, trying to transition smoothly into the isle when no one from behind me was looking anymore, and went back to looking around like nothing had happened. I was infuriated, and probably overthinking, but I felt like I needed to leave. I decided that I very much didn’t care as much as I had a couple hours ago. Whatever the first beside table I found was, that would have to do. I needed to go home and stay home for as long as I could. I didn’t care about being mature, I didn’t care about what my roommates thought about it, I needed space. I tried to walk and relax again while I looked. I had to stay constantly focused on not losing myself in that simple activity.

To keep myself occupied, I tried to hum some songs that I hadn’t listened to in a long time. Ones I had at one point, known every word and note to, but now could barely remember how the melody started. While this didn’t help me forget about the past couple days, that was no longer my main concern. I had realized the hard way that my bigger concern was literally just not turning into a public lunatic. Such complete and utter bullshit. But, there I was, about thirty minutes into humming the entirety (sort of) of Pisces Iscariot, not currently very fond of myself, when I supposedly made the decision.

-

“HEMNES"

-

It was fine I guess. It was a sleek golden beige, two shelved, top and middle. I didn’t know how appealing a noticeably reflective golden beige was, but it was certainly better than black covered by a shitty paint job of white that didn’t do very well hiding the previous color. It would clash, but I didn’t think anyone would be seeing my bedroom anytime soon to critique it.

It was, without a doubt, a bedside table.

“Holy shit, that is so fucking ugly.”

I’d never been very sensible when it came to home decorating, but I knew when a piece of furniture looked absolutely hideous. Hideous to a point that it would never conventionally fit into any suburban home. It seemed more appropriate to hold some eighty year old southern woman’s beanie babies than my collection of hard copy pornography.

I looked at the tag behind the display. Thirty-seven odd dollars for the worst piece of craftsmanship I’d ever seen in my life. That was a pretty good deal. Although, it certainly would not leave me with enough money to properly replace the lamp that was guilty by association. Lowe’s tomorrow it is. The box across the aisle was fairly heavy, but thin enough that I could hold it under my right arm not too awkwardly. Of course I didn’t have any kind of basket or cart, because that would have meant me being smart and grabbing one. I wasn’t about to go back and ask that woman for one. I didn’t exactly know where I was supposed to check out, so I was fine with just walking and hoping that I found it. It wasn’t heavy enough for me to need to be there immediately or anytime soon.

That gave me a promise of some more time to relax and clear my head in this therapeutically fascinating store. I think I needed it, so it would be nice to take my time.

-

-

-

My arm was getting tired around the time I realized that I was starting to get the joke. Where the hell was the checkout in this place? It felt like I had been here for hours since I walked in, so surely I had to of traveled at least halfway through, if not more. Shouldn’t there only be one checkout? It was actually connected to the room I had started in if I remember correctly, should I just start backtracking? No, even though I seemed to be in a part of the store with, bizarrely, no other customers, I was still anxious of doing the uncomfortable turn-around in public, and certainly could not risk another encounter with the section of the store I had lost my shit in. Walking forward was fine, I had to get there eventually, or at least to someone I could ask about it.

-

-

-

I’ve switched arms. I didn’t exactly get an aerial view of the store before going in, but this seems a little unnecessary. Aren’t you technically a chain? Why does a furniture store need to be this massive? It’s not as if there’s no other place in the world to buy furniture. Was this dumb? Maybe I should’ve just gone to Walmart. It probably was less expensive. Can you buy a bedside table at Walmart? If you can, I’m sure it can’t be as ugly as this thing. Is this the universe's way of telling me to get a different one? Well, I’ll be the first one to say it. The universe can quite frankly choke it to the root at the moment. I’m taking my backwards country bedside table and going home. And I swear to God, I will never leave that fucking room again.

-

-

-

I’ve realized my comment to the universe earlier was a little bit harsh. I’d like to formally apologize. First of all, I’m not trying to say anything too demeaning of my manhood, but I’m pretty sure that nobody would have to choke in order to reach the root of it. I also would like to recognize my somewhat unnecessary action taken against the IKEA worker that was just trying to do her job, she didn’t deserve that reaction. I also would like to say that this establishment is truly lovely, in every sense of the word. All the way down to this beautiful and divine piece of Swedish craftsmanship that I am so honored and privileged to be holding in my hands. What an absolute haven of furnishings, fixtures, and other paraphernalia. It is a truly wondrous place, but I would very much like to leave it. Is that okay? Do you forgive me?

-

No?

-

I’m beginning to feel that it’s very much appropriate to say that I am lost.

Lost isn’t a good word, stranded is better.

I haven’t seen anyone in about an hour and a half, and I haven’t stopped walking in any of that time. That’s like, a super bad sign, right? That’s like, not good. I’m racking my brain right now. Did I take another escalator, or just another pair of stairs? An elevator? A fucking fireman’s sliding pole-Jesus Christ dude I really don’t know. I was in my head for what could have been a good amount of the time, maybe I literally just didn’t notice, ya know? I mean, I feel like I might have somehow ended up in the basement of this place. But even if I did, an hour and a goddamn half?! I’m sure this place is big, but I’m a lot more certain that it’s not THAT fucking big. Not big enough for there to be such a gradual decline in the floor that I wouldn’t notice I’ve been walking downwards the entire time I was here either. And for the ever fucking holy love of God, I am so tired of carrying this stupid. Fucking. Table. I’ll admit it, times have been tough, I haven’t worked out in about a month, and I wasn’t Roman Reigns to begin with. This thing is really heavy. I started carrying it with both arms and it’s still kicking my ass. Also, I kind of just realized it, but I feel weird. I feel tired. Not like exhaustion tired, even though I’m definitely exhausted. Just, woozy. I feel dizzy, lightheaded, almost drunk.

Drunk isn’t a good word, wasted is-

-

-

-

Well, I just sobered right the fuck up.

-

The lights all went out just now. Completely out, all at the same time.

There wasn’t even some massive “clunk” you usually hear from those giant flood lights cutting off or on, ya know? One second they were on, and the next, they just weren’t. Had the power gone out? Maybe it was the storm, but I hadn’t heard any thunder or anything, and certainly not that muffled sound of rain on the roof you’ll usually get. Maybe I really was in some sort of lower level then, but does a place this big not have a backup generator or something? That’s not even to mention those… I don’t even know what the fuck they are. You know, the little red lights over exits and fire alarms and stuff that usually stay on when the lights go out? There’s nothing. It’s so unbelievably dark that I don’t even know how to properly convey with words how much of an absolute absence of any source of light there is right now.
Okay, okay, well maybe they’re closed? No no no, not a chance. It hadn’t gotten that late, there was no way I’ve been here that long just walking. Also, wouldn’t they warn you on the PA or something? Finish your shopping and head to the exit kind of thing? Even if they did, do they IMMEDIATELY shut off every fucking light in the store the second it hits 9:00 PM? Surely there’s stragglers in a place as big as this, and surely there’s gotta be employee work that spans at least an hour past closing, right? A place of business is never truly closed the second that its hours of operation stop, so what the hell is going on here?

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I’m petrified, I haven’t moved for like five whole minutes. It’s pitch fucking black. I can’t see a thing, I mean a literal thing. I don’t know what to do. I don’t even want to reach for my phone. I could use the flashlight but….. I’m paralyzed with fear. I don’t know if I even want to see what’s in front of me.

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It has taken an additional four minutes and eleven seconds according to “Everything In Its Right Place” playing in my head. I’ve reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. I can see now, but honestly, there’s something about a dark space lit only by a flashlight that feels more sinister than pitch black nothingness. I mean, I see that every time I close my eyes. Something I don’t see so often, are infinite isles of the most freakishly bizzaro place on earth just barely illuminated in a small scope of torchlight. Have you heard of the term “liminal space”? Jesus, that’s such a dumb question, of course you have.

Maybe it’s been somewhat normalized from how popular it’s gotten on the internet recently, but let me tell you, it is not a fucking cool place to be.

Current consensus? This would be the worst if I wasn’t already taking the winner's spot of being the absolute worst.

My phone says that it’s 9:24 PM. Was that true?! That means the lights had gone out at around, I don’t know, 9:15 maybe? That still seemed so early for a closing time of 9:00 PM. I had gotten here around 6, 6:30 at the latest, but I know I got here before 6:30. Had I been here for almost three hours? That didn’t feel right. Nothing felt right at the moment.

Cheers to that.

Everything feels wrong. So indescribably wrong. What the hell do I even do? Do I just keep walking? I’m realizing that if they just had a mass power outage that the PA wouldn’t work for them to tell me what’s going on, let alone tell me that the store was closing.

Man, somebody telling me what’s going on would be priceless at the moment. I would put myself through the Berserk eclipse for that kind of piece of mind right about now.

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I mean, am I kidding myself? Do I already know?

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No, come on, that’s just not possible. I’m not a cynic. The universe finds a way, ghosts are probably real, aliens undoubtedly are, blah blah etcetera blah, but that’s not possible. I’m going to give the universe a little bit of tether here. I’m in a furniture store, that’s it. I’m not buying into this Eden Prison joke. I will politely refuse to believe that I’m in some kind of, I don’t even know, infinite tesseract that is comedically disguised as a mother fucking IKEA.

No.

Sorry if that spoils the joke, but I’m gonna be honest. I am not anywhere close to being in the mood for even thinking about laughing right now. This one is going to have to be lost on me. You get that one? Probably not, I’m most likely a lot funnier than whoever came up with this routine.

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Okay, I’m getting a little aggressive. I’m going to lay my cards on the table, I’m really fucking scared, and I have to pee. Surely there’s gotta be a bathroom somewhere here, but where?! I don’t think I can wait for it. If the lights and PA don’t work, would that happen to mean that the security cameras don’t either?

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More importantly, if I do this, I’m crossing a line that states that I am very much in a catastrophic situation. I don’t want to admit that to my brain but…

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Update, I have just pissed in an unirrigated display toilet. Not exactly a bucket list item.

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Does IKEA even have a PA system to talk to me if the power was on? I hadn’t even heard any music playing when I was walking around normally. Does it just.. not exist?

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Okay, my head is practically spinning. That’s currently a pretty girly cocktail mix of fatigue and overwhelming dread. Bottom line, I think I should stop walking. I don’t even know where I’m going. For all I know, I literally might have started walking backwards when the lights went out, and my phone battery isn’t going to last forever with this flashlight on to-..

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My phone.

What if, hypothetically, I was some scared old woman? I probably would’ve done it as soon as I got lost. They wouldn’t blame me for that, right? They might roll their eyes and laugh about it to each other after getting off work, making fun of me as “that one time where the guy got lost in an IKEA and called us”, but believe it or not, I could live with that. This is ridiculous, I don’t even care if it warrants the call. I want to go home.

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I dial 911 into my phone.

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I really want to cry.

No service.

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I crumpled onto the ground what was definitely a long time ago. I look at my phone. 11:04 PM. I’m not even surprised. Consider my perception of time destroyed. I’ve moved past fear. I’ve slipped into a warm pool of detachment.

Detachment isn’t a good word, dissociation is better.

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New objective: Find a bed.

I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on but… it can’t take me if I just relax. I need to relax. Even if I hadn’t reached that realization, there is something wrong with my body.

I need to stop moving.

I’m in an IKEA, I could probably find the most comfortable bed I’ve ever laid on in my life. Maybe if my vision wasn’t blurring. I would settle for a couch at the moment. I just want nothing more than to lie down right now.

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I found a bed. I can’t tell how comfortable it really is, but it feels better than sex right now. I mean, probably. Maybe when I wake up, it will be from an employee shaking my shoulder again to kick me out of the building.

That’s a nice thought to fall asleep to. Yeah, I like the sound of that.

Everything will be fine when I wake up.

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Never once have I been so unhappy to get a good night's sleep.

Yet, here I am. Naturally awake, uninterrupted.

Rise and shine.
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(Part three coming soon)