Corridors

To call it a dimly lit hallway would have been a compliment. To have called it disgusting would have been an accolade. But here he was, looking down this hallway that seemed to stretch into infinity. How he got here, he couldn't really tell you. A few drinks, some alone time, then it all gets foggy. Now the fog was gone, leaving this dingy old hallway full of doors.

As bad as it was, he seemed to feel comfortable, right at home. This was him. In more ways than one. It seemed to fit his personality. Dark, and dirty. Home.

While the hallway stretched endlessly, it wasn't empty. There were doors after doors after doors. At first, he thought he had just woken up in a seedy hotel. But a quick glance around had dissuaded him of that notion. He looked again for any sign of where he was, or an "exit" sign. At this point, he decided he really wasn't going to be picky. There were only two ways to look, and neither direction had any flicker of a red light. No exit sign in sight.

He stood for a minute in the middle of the hallway, peering first one direction, and then the other. Either way could be the way to go. There were no markings, no door numbers, nothing. Just a repetitious monotony of doors in a dimly lit hall. Both directions were the same. Finally, he decided that it probably didn't matter which way he went, they both would eventually lead somewhere.

Picking a direction, he called it his "right", he started walking.

The problem with walking in a monotonous hallway is that there is really no way to measure how far one has walked. There are no landmarks to measure against, no way of telling the passage of time, everything looks the same. After a period of walking, he finally came upon a chair. It was so out of character with the monotony of the hallway as to leap to his attention. Approaching the chair, he decided to sit down, somewhat disheartened by his apparent lack of progress.

"What the hell kinda place is this?" he muttered. His day/evening wasn't going well. He had woken up from some sort of stupor to find himself in a hallway that went nowhere and never changed. He felt muddled, like his head was stuffed in cotton and someone was trying to teach him astrophysics. He shrugged off his jacket, and in doing so, thought he saw the flicker of movement. His head snapped up, there was someone else here.

Standing he dashed down the hall towards the movement. "Maybe they can tell me how to get out," came his feverish thought. He had had enough of this crazy fun-house and he wanted to leave. Reaching the extent of his ability to run, he found he still hadn't seen another person. But he did see a chair ahead.

As he approached the chair to catch his breath, he saw that there was something lying crumpled on the floor. Coming closer, he realized that it was his jacket, laying on the floor beside the chair. The chair that he had run from all that way behind him. The implications of the situation were starting to freak him out a bit. Whatever hell he was in, this was fucked up.

Stooping down to retrieve his jacket, he noticed a piece of paper on the ground, under the chair. Desperate for any sort of information, even nonsensical information. would be appreciated. Something, anything. Picking up the note so that he could read the scratchy handwriting, what he saw dropped his mouth and froze him. It wasn't more than a simple sentence, but it filled him with dread.

"to leave, you open every door and face your past injustices"

To leave, he had to atone for every wrong he had ever done.

"So, this is hell," he mummered..