hE:ll, SE:ll, BE:ll

My room is the warmest place in the house, and also the most aesthetically pleasing. The kitchen is an ugly, perennial sinkhole that resists cleaning. The living room is poorly lit and…well, cold. Sundown occurred around 4:30 yesterday, long before I left the house for the day. I saw the twilight blue of approaching night through the veil of my white curtain; a smattering of pink on the distant horizon prompted me to peel it back, but only a smidge, and only for a brief moment. The heating system runs somewhere near my room. It vents warm air outside, and there’s a constant spraying sound that resembles either a malfunctioning sprinkler or an amplified spitting baby. Let’s hope it never stops, because the temperatures have not reached above the freezing point for days now.

Outside, I have a car, but nowhere to go. It is expensive to drive, expensive to eat, expensive to seek after anything that will stimulate any kind of genuine excitement. I cannot muster the motivation to brave a walk, and so my legs are at rest on my chair or in my bed. I look at the clock at least 40 times a day.

Heaven, to me, is an arcology in the midst of a barren, polluted, and desolate wasteland. I walk two hallways and an elevator to work. I live in a comfortable bungalow half a mile above the frozen ground, and there are no curtains on my window. There is no need. It is easy for me to spend several pleasant hours looking out my window, picking out distant places in the wild landscape. I imagine being set down in these random locations; I try to envision the different perspectives from these distant pieces of ground. There is no need to leave the arcology. No need to be cold.

Time moves along, but I remain in my room.

hE:ll

SE:ll

. . .

BE:ll

Alone in my warm room, sleep shakes off all pressures and pains of being alive and well.