Curious

Chapter 9: The Gang Unwanted

CHAPTER NINE: The Gang Unwanted

What the hell was going on?

In that moment, Simon became fully aware of the bizarreness of the past few days. He quickly reviewed the events: He'd seen a palace door outside of his bookstore that apparently only existed in his mind, opened said palace door, which led to a downward tunnel that somehow ended up leading to the top of a lighthouse, from where he walked down and out before he reached a hotel in a Midwestern town and woke up the next day in the same hotel yet different setting, now a Saharan desert, saw the palace door outside the hotel in the middle of desert, went out and opened the door into a random subway station in an unidentified city, gotten on the subway train, where his wallet was stolen, couldn't get off at "Reality" and instead had to get off at a dingy stop called "Nada Place" that though it looked like the subway stop of a serious slum, was actually in the middle of the wilderness.

It was no wonder that he found it bizarre. It was a wonder, however, that he had not retreated to complete insanity just yet. Though now as he stood in the middle of wild grass with a visible sight of a forest up ahead, coming from civilization and returning to wilderness, he was honestly considering exactly how crazy he had become. Was it just a little? Was it too much? How much insanity is acceptable? Whatever it was, he had long passed the line for which it is socially acceptable to be insane. He just hoped it wasn't beyond clinical.

He stood in the middle of the meadow, standing near the exit of the subway station, thinking to himself: what now? He could go back the way he came and try to take the train somewhere else or he could go keep trekking the wilderness, hoping to see some glimpse of human activity.

Actually now that he thought about it, there was really no question. Obviously, he couldn't stay here in the middle of nowhere. It made no sense and he really had no idea how far he had to go. Simon turned back around and entered the empty station again. On the other hand, he thought to himself as he took the stairs down to the platform, if there was a subway station like this, it made sense that if not now, there was life here somewhere, even if he did not yet know where it was. But he didn't feel like walking around once more, not knowing where he was going, not being able to ask anyone.

He reached the platform and eyed a bench where he could sit while he waited. It seemed very questionable—dirty, disease-infested, and judging by the general air of the station, he really didn't want to know what went on that bench. He got out his blanket from his backpack, lay it over the bench, and sat down. He wondered how long it would be till the next station. He wished he had thought to bring a book to read in his spare time, but the thought hadn't occurred to him in the few moments before he walked through the door.

With no literary piece to amuse him, Simon was left with only his thoughts. He was beginning to hate how often his mind would turn to this and analyze things. Why must he be such an analyzer? Why did he have to think everything out before he did it? Why couldn't he live in the moment like so many other people? He hated that he couldn't change. He hated that he had always been like that. He hated that he never knew any other way. He hated that he was over-thinking it right now as he was contemplating over-thinking.

He sat with one leg crossed over the other, one hand on his knee, tapping his fingers against his thigh, while the other arm was leaning on his backpack protectively.

Simon heard the sound of a door slamming, knocking him out of his thoughts. He heard the sound of footsteps and looked up. Someone was coming down the stairs into the platform. He held his breath. So there was life here.

He looked up at the direction of the stairs as a tall skinny man came running down the stairs. His clothes were dirty and ill fitting—like they were hand-me-downs. He had long outgrown his pants and two hairy ankles poked out in between his pant leg and his shoe. His hair was long and messy. His face was almost indistinguishable Simon thought he rather looked like a homeless monk. In a normal situation he would have been disappointed but he was just relieved to have some company, however questionable it might be, at this point.