Absurdity

(Harlequin Short story prompt) By P. Wells

Image courtesy of Ironage.media

The room is dark, and I hear nothing around the oak paneled walls.

I climb to my feet, feeling as I go, unsure of where I am, how I got here. These things are important, I say to myself.

How couldn't they be?

A flash of light draws my eye, straight ahead. It's a mirror, hung on a door. It's strange that I didn't notice it first thing since getting here, but as I look around, I understand that this too doesn't matter, some how. This is a door in an empty room, and there is only one direction to go.

I stride towards the light, the only light there is. My leg struggles to keep up with the rest of me, like usual. I mask my suprise; there is usually some pain. The damn thing has always hurt, ever since the accident at work. A small voice in my head is concerned about this, but the rest of me knows relief when I feel it.

I drag my lively carcass to the mirror, the door.

I know what to expect when I see the thirty three year old man staring back at me:

A few lines, a paunch, receding hair line, yadda yadda. No better or worse than normal. I breathe a sigh of relief.

My meaty fist wraps around the handle- an iron crossbar, not brass- swinging the door in hard, fast. There is a rush of stale air, but I pay it no mind. The only thing I want is to be out of this place sooner rather than later.

I enter another dark space, identical to the one I just left. My head snaps back. Something is terribly wrong.

The door behind is still ajar, the looming empty space a barren, silent void.

I move forward, the only reasonable direction to go. This second door is identical to the first, complete with an unassuming mirror.

My pace quickens, the eagerness to escape trumping anything else I feel.

The steel toe soles of my work boots fly across the hardwood floor of this strange place.

The mirror here holds no more interest to me than the last one did. All the same, the door leads to another room, exactly the same as before.

Only this time, I'm not alone. There is a figure in the doorway, cloaked in shadow. I wouldn't have seen it at all, but for the luminous pale skin. Even so far away, I can tell the shade of rice paper.

I take a step forward and shout, “hey!”

It's all I have time to do, before the mysterious stranger ducks through the doorway, snapping it closed behind it with an immense bang. With nowhere else to go, I charge in the only direction I have left. I cross the empty room and crash through the door with its mirror, not bothering to slow down.

Again and again, I cross the threshold for what feels like an eternity. In the back of my head, I wonder what happened to the hitch in my step. This feeling… I haven't felt this good since high school. Better even. My legs pump faster and harder. My breaths come along easily. How could I ever have felt anxiety about this place I'm in? There is only the thrill of the chase here, no dull existence of living paycheck to paycheck.

I hit my stride, crossing into another room in three steps. There it is again, just an instant of pale flesh in shadow. A joyous howl tears it's way out of my throat. I finally got em!

It stands halfway out of the frame, beckoning me closer with a grin.

Smiling myself, I stroll right over to meet him, because surely it is a him. He's bald, like, comically bald, not a single hair on his bulbous head. His teeth are a bit gross, but I haven't seen a sink or toothbrush since I got here. Easy come, easy go I guess.

Oh dear God, his clothes. They might be the most ridiculous thing about him. The collar and style remind me of paintings of Victorian monarchs, only his frills are in red and black, and look like they've never seen soap and water. In fact, he smells like it, too.

A giggle almost leaves my mouth over this goofy looking guy, which I squelch immediately. My momma never raised me to be rude to strangers… wait. Mom…

I can't remember anything about her. That worries me for a second, until I find myself close enough to this clown to touch.

All my questions are gone.

The person in the mirror looks like he could be related to the guy in front of me. Only the person in front of the mirror… is me.

My skin is the exact same waxy shade of pale. I get a little pale in winter, but never like this.

Every last follicle of hair has fallen out of my balding head. At least there wasn't much left to lose. Thankfully, my head is more square than that guys lumpy noggin.

Ugh, my teeth.

My eyes rove over my new outfit in the strange lighting. I have the same color scheme, red and black. The suit I wear is nothing short of ridiculous, with the exaggerated shoulder pads known best from the 80's. The only time I've ever needed to wear a suit was for my dad's funeral a few years back, when he…

Well, shit. I don't even remember.

A little voice in my head screams in alarm, but the rest of me is laughing. There is just something so refreshing about the… absurdity of it all.

“Tee hee.”

This weirdo is laughing at me. I can't help it.

A bubbling, hideous giggle erupts out of me, “heh heh.”

My doppelganger in the mirror follows suit, and my leather shoes smack the hardwood floor.

The door is wide open, the muted colors of dusk and open air lay beyond.

It's been way too long since we've grown our ranks. That last fella was just the pick me up we needed.

Our eyes pick out movement approaching the abandoned tent. Looks like we've got another one, boys.

Lips peel back from yellow teeth in a horrid Leer.

The absurdity of it all.