A Fairy Out of Her Tale - Dear Diary - 27. Scene 27

11-12th January 1995

Dear Diary of Boredom,

It’s still dark out, too “late” for proper bedtime and too “early” for anyone else to be up already. But I’ve been asleep for so long that I’m just… not in the mood to keep sleeping?

And the wound still hurts a little when I move. And my last dream was a strange nightmare with the demons. So yeah, I would rather stay bored and awake.

I did promise I would talk about the house at some point, so maybe now is the time for it.

I thought I would feel too claustrophobic in a house that has so many floors on top of each other and only one door to the outside world. Who came up with such a horrible idea? But it sort of… makes sense in context? It’s not like Enkyo is blooming with nature, and the air outside smells so bad it’s easier to breath when I’m locked inside with the airconditioner on (the night is really cold, though. I didn’t think deserts could be colder than the forest, but here I am under a woolen blanket!).

The house is in a plot of land that is not even a quarter of my family’s (and our house wasn’t particularly big either). Like everybody else in this ugly, ugly city, we don’t have a garden, or a tree by the front door, or even a tiny patch of grass. As far as I know, the potted plants in my room are the only nature in the entire block!

I haven’t been to all the rooms yet - Lóránt wouldn’t let me move about too much because it would make the wound bleed again. I’ve been as far as the room next to mine, which is a kind of entertainment centre mixed with library mixed with office. I can’t tell what colour the wallpaper is because every centimetre of that wall is covered by a giant bookshelf that stretches and turns like it was build onto the walls. The room is so big that it fits another two desks (one was completely covered in disorganised papers) and a large-screen TV with some game console attached to it. The couch in front of the TV has three seats, but they’re so big they probably fit twice as many people. I can lie down there and my feet wouldn’t be dangling out.

But the weirdest thing wasn’t just finding a giant room next door. It was the journey there: Ten broad steps on a laminate, fake wood floor, surrounded by pastel walls, with a ceiling over my head and a dangly chandelier nearby. How could I leave a room and still stay indoors? If you’re going out… you’re going out, right? You can’t go out and stay in at the same time! It’s not logical!

I’m in the first floor above the ground, but it’s not like how we do it that we make a little entrance area on the ground floor with a ladder to the actual bedroom above. I find it disconcerting that there is so much house underneath me, so much next to me, and even more above me! A whole floor above a floor that is already above another floor! That can’t be safe.

Maybe that’s another reason I can’t sleep? What if the ceiling caves in and we all die under tons of debris?

Great, now I’m even more scared. I could try to find the kitchen and get a glass of passion fruit juice to send me dreaming for the next few hours. But that involves exploring the house on my own. In the dark. And with a wound I’m supposed to not mess with.

This is one of those times I should call Lóránt and ask them to fetch the juice for me, right? That’s what they’re here for, in a way. Not to be my personal servant, but to make sure I’m ok.

It’s not fair to wake them up so early/late, though. Actually, I don’t even know how to reach them from here. I don’t see a buzzer or any sort of communicator…

Screw it, I’m going to find that kitchen and that juice!

We’ll talk later!