Splitting Image – 2: Black

This is another part 2 (!) of my short story, Splitting Image. Next post will be: the last part 2 and part 3!

Read the beginning here:

Part 1.

Part 2: Purple.

Splitting Image – 2: Black

I step in. 

Oh, why is this tunnel so different than it had looked from outside? So much brighter, I’m not sure if it is comforting, though. And… my outfit… is different. I wasn’t wearing this black and dark red kimono dress before. What sort of trick is it? Was I drugged for a while when I stepped in, and brought here by a psychopathic pervert? Would they force me to stay in this tunnel? 

I feel panic rising inside me, impossible to control. This is so frightening! After a while, I realise that no one is coming, and wonder if the door did something to me instead. This is philosophically interesting. What happened to me when I went through? Why do I feel so different, as if there are parts of me I can’t access? Am I the real me?

Of course, I’m the real me. I feel like the real me. My consciousness is mine. I pat myself to get reassurance. The most important fact is that I’m still alive.

Why did I enter this tunnel? Why would I even do some urbex in the first place, with my phone down? Did I not know that most things were dangerous and unexpected and frightening?

And these.. Are these… people? No, these horrible ghosts don’t truly look like people when I look closely, they flicker in and out. Do I look like a ghost as well?

It’s all great to think about who I am, but it’s meaningless. I’m so sad, I’m stuck here on my own.  

Maybe I should use the time to ponder why we exist in the first place and what consciousness is, but I’m afraid that would just deepen the existential angst and death phobia in me. Too late, I’m thinking about it and despair. 

I vaguely remember… I used to care about joy, I think. Love and discoveries and laughing and reading and creating and parkour, of all things. I was able to shake the sadness most of the time, to meditate and enjoy the moment, to see a therapist to help with anxiety and burnout.

Where did that person go? Is it what this theme park did to me? Split me in two or whatever? If I get out of the tunnel, will I feel good again?

Although… what would that mean for me, now? My consciousness? Would I die, or the other “me”? So many questions, and as always, no answer.

I walk quietly in the tunnel, paying attention to everything, like holes in the floor, to avoid stumbling.

These ghosts… Are they what you become if you die here? Should I take a big risk? Yet, isn’t the other me better off without me anyway? 

I walk a bit more down the tunnel, and one of the ghosts seems different. She… looks a bit like me, and she’s waiting.

I hesitate. What should I do? I fear dying, but am I truly living here?

I get out.

TO BE CONTINUED 🙂

References

Pictures by Marco Vinagre

Model, writing: me

Dress: Punkrave from Saisai Camden

Make up: Kat Von D beauty

Luna Boots: Disturbia

Harness: Alien Baby Co

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