Sometimes I Don T Know Where I Am In A Short Story

2333 Words 9 Pages
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Sometimes I don’t know who I am, where I am, or what I’m doing. I feel imprisoned, sometimes, in a state of eternal dreaming. Although my dreams aren’t happy or fun or kind. They’re just dreams. They’re not real and I’ve known this for a long time.
I see waves of sunlight pour through the bathroom window, catching fire to thousands of specks of dust.
Dust. Inconsequential to the highest degree.
I start to wonder what it would be like to be dust. Abandoned and lonely. Drifting through the world without meaning. But it’s hard to wonder – to imagine – when it’s the truth. After all, I’m made from matter that doesn’t matter: I’m dust.
I sigh and look past the window. More distractions. Outside lay a gravelled driveway, circling a fountain
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After about twenty seconds my hand hit a solid end. “Is this it?” I felt my surroundings, making out the shape of a ladder in front of us, “I think this is it!”
“Where do we go now?” Cecelia puzzled.
“I’ll climb up,” I wedged my foot on the first step.
“Be careful.”
“I will,” I climbed a few more steps and reached for the ceiling, my hand pressing against something rickety. “I think there’s another door!”
“Can you open it?” Cecelia called.
“I’m not sure,” I pushed with more force and the hatch swung open, taking me by surprise. I looked up at the strips of light that flickered into the tunnel. Blinded. I made my way to the top and hauled myself up. I was so excited. “What’s up there?” Cecelia climbed the ladder after me.
“I’m not sure,” I was in a very small room. The walls were made of old stone and there was a tiny light hanging down from the ceiling. The only decoration in the room was a set of narrow stairs, leading up to a large wooden panel.
“It’s empty,” Cecelia said when she reached my side.
“I know.”
“What’s this wood here for?” Cecelia walked up the stairs and ran her fingers down the panel.
“Is it a door?”
Cecelia tried to push it, alas, “No, it’s just
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“It’s not working.”
“We’ll have to go back,” I felt a little sad, there was nothing adventurous or exciting about a desolate, ugly room.
“There must be something behind it,” Cecelia insisted and started banging her fists against the wood. “Why would a tunnel lead to nothing?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“Help me try and move it?”
“I don’t think we’ll be able to,” I sighed. Nevertheless, I slammed by hands against the panel and tried to push it whilst Cecelia continued to bang it. We were making an awfully loud noise, the discordant sounds of skin against wood echoed around the small room – after a short while I was about to give up. “Hello?” a muffled voice came from the other side of the panel.
Silence inherited the air. Cecelia then glanced at me worriedly, her eyes wide and her mouth partly open.
“Hello,” I rested my ear against the panel.
“Who’s there?” the voice shouted, it was grave and heavy and you could tell it was a man.
“Aurelia,” I said carefully, I remembered that Mum said not to talk to

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