Door 28

  I won’t bother you with the first-day details or even the first few days, I can tell you for a fact that nothing happened. Well, nothing of interest happened. I did, unfortunately, spill my bag of whole beans on the floor on day three, and now I’m forced to keep an eye out for bits of lint that have stuck themselves to the tiny whole beans before I’m even able to mumble a word of exclamation… Though that’s not true I definitely can mumble words of exclamation over the damned things.

  Anyway, we are on day number seventeen, and I start the day as I do every other day I have While in this room. Yes, I have been keeping a journal, but as I have said there has been nothing of interest… other than the dumbed beans.

  So. Today started out just like all the others. I got up from the small bed that had been provided by the people who own the room. It takes up most of the right-hand side of the wall. Well, the right if you are just entering the room from the door, but I suppose it would be the left if you’re facing the door. It’s a relatively comfortable bed, so that’s nice.

  There are two shelves directly above my bed filled with books. They’re all empty, each and every one of them. Trust me, I have checked, and every single book is filled with blank pages. Similarly, directly across from me, or, well, across from the bed, there is a wall filled with 4x6 picture frames all displaying the same thing, the door. They all have different numbers on them, but they are all the same door nonetheless, I suppose that makes sense though I don’t know why you would display them in this manner.

  Anyway, I dressed quickly and made coffee; we won’t go into that. While here, I have found myself going into a routine. It’s not much of one given the small confines of the room, but it is something I find myself doing non the less. Today’s routine, and well everyday routine goes as follows. As I wait for my coffee to brew, I quickly wipe down the coffee station that takes up the left half of the wall next to the door… well to my right of the door as I was facing that direction.

  A stainless-steel top, with a sink sunk into it, is all it really is. There is a small garbage bin underneath and one of those tiny fridges one might have while away at college, but there are no cupboards or shelves to speak of. It also came with one mug and one set of dinnerware, including a plate, but no bowls so I’ve had to drink my coffee and then eat my cereal out of the same mug each morning.

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  Also, there is no bathroom in the room, only a composting toilet on tiny wheels that sits under the bed. It is surprisingly efficient, and I haven’t smelled a whiff of anything coming from it since I began to use it. Though it is entirely possible that there is a smell and I have just gotten used to it. Either way, it is a strangely liberating experience to poop in the middle of your living space.

  But I digress, none of that is really important.

  What is important and the reason that I have sequestered myself in this tiny room is the window on the opposite wall from the door. It is currently covered with a yellow cloth made to look like a theater curtain, tasseled pull-string, and all. It is also the same color as the door, whether or not that is important or not I could not tell you. But this is the last part of my daily routine because once I open that curtain, I spend the rest of the day staring out of it. Of course, I do eat, and whatnot, but my eyes remain glued to the window for the most part and it’s the only thing I think about for the rest of the day.

  So, then, once that routine for that day is completed, I open the curtain. There is no fanfare, I don’t mimic a drumroll or anything like that. No, I simply pull the curtain and see what is on the other side.

  Water is what greets me this time around. It is beautiful, with brightly colored fish fluttering around the ruins of a city that lies outside. It is the same city I have seen every day that I have opened this curtain, though in considerably worse condition than the other times.

  Still, even with the beauty, my heart falls. For unless people have grown fins and moved to the sea, I shall not glimpse the other version of myself that I had come here hoping to see.

  Twenty-eight, that was the number on the door and that is the number of other worlds that other me, or me’s exist or… hopefully exist. The door is different for everyone, has a different number for everyone, and everyone that has used the room… that I have talked to anyway, had great, and sometimes terrifying experiences.

  But I have been out of luck so to speak and have witnessed no me’s, just the same city over and over. That in itself, is a bit sad, and maybe even more annoying, I would have hoped at least one of me had thought about leaving the city.

  I thought, surely, I would have seen myself shambling about as a zombie. Trying their best to eat that last survivor’s brain. Or a poster of myself depicting me in an upcoming movie as the star. Oh well, there are still eleven more days, and worlds to go. Maybe tomorrow will be better.