I am Here stories

I am Here. Where Here is, I couldn’t tell you. I have what I call ten walls. Two of which I am calling walls for my sake. They are more like the ends of two walls, if that makes any sense. The room is shaped like the letter “U” if you could only use straight lines to write it.

Room 1, the beginning of the “u,” has a curb side pick up, two shelved bookcase with a small pirate ship wheel hung on the wall above it. This bookcase holds a scale that perfectly balances a white stone made of quartz and a black stone that’s name escapes me. This was all for symbolic reasons that would leave a guest either feeling like I am deep or feeling that I am a tool. I choose to believe that I am deep and have a significant vantage point compared to others. The rest of the top shelf comprises of a lamp, a custom made candle made from a Makers Mark whiskey bottle, an actual bottle of some what I have concluded to be moonshine or a strong brandy, and a hand carved African knight. The second shelf contains nautical things such as a ship in a bottle, an empty bottle with a note rolled up inside it, a tin mug, and a fake bookcase that opened only to be empty. The bottom shelf had assorted magazines stacked from Snowboarder and Outdoors to Cosmo. This bookcase in itself makes me feel like I am in a house that I don’t belong. But that brings up the problem; there is no door on any of these ten walls. Then dining room, the bottom of the “u,” has a round, three foot diameter, oak poker table with one oak chair. I’ve turned the chair to face the wall that has the curtains on it. They open, only to display a beautiful concrete wall. It’s like whoever made this place got lazy. Or creative. I guess that is relative. I keep the curtains closed. I pretend I am in different countries and to have open blinds is too dangerous. Or the other day I let myself believe that I was on a spaceship and the rooms where made to be familiar but if I opened the curtain, I would only see darkness; or maybe Orion 472… Orion 472 was showing up any day. Room 2, the end of the “u,” has a counter made of concrete, a chill box (which I have only named this because it is neither a refrigerator nor an ice box), a hot pan, and the toilet. The toilet situation was something that I really had to overcome. I mean, who the fuck designed this place? I would rather go to Craigs frat barefoot than live in a house that only has a toilet- in the kitchen. What. The. Fuck. But yeah. That’s the kitchen. I eat and shit in there. I really feel like that was a solid job of describing this place. Man, if I die you need to write a book or something. Put my actual letters in it so Liz and Kylie really get the feels. Then at least I’ll remembered as a great guy! Oh, and I think this goes without saying, but don’t include this last paragraph. That wouldn’t go over well. Haha. But yeah, the bottom left corner of this room has a typewriter and the whole in the wall is perfect for mail. So maybe whoever put me here wants me to write? I don’t know. Do you think they will put a stamp on it for me? They didn’t leave me any stamps. Umm… yeah. That is all I have to say. Trying to stay optimistic here, Chad. It doesn’t look good. It feels like the Twilight Zone or something. I just want to wake up. But if this is my only chance to talk to you, I wanted to say I love you. You passed me a while ago in most everything. Except for strength, but I mean, come on. I always did my best to look after you, so I hope that any hard feelings you have can be forgotten. I always thought it was for the best, whatever it was.

I love you, baby brother. You have the biggest heart I have ever met. You better always use it. You’re my favorite person on this damn planet, losing only to two miss universe contestants and my strong belief in string theory. But yeah, if this turns out to be normal mail and you somehow find me and we both live, throw this away, bitch. Love, Matt

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Submitted October 20, 2014 at 08:51AM by oughta http://ift.tt/1vSw4HV stories