A thousand and one stories #27 Door

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I don’t stretch out my legs and arms and neck to get ready for the day to come anymore. I lay on my sofa bed, with a packet of chips and eat when I don’t even feel like it. There’s a door to my house that’s always opening and closing but my eyes are mostly closed, I don’t even realise who does it. But every once in a while when I do get up to avoid being soaked in my own piss and shit, I see my legs shivering. They’re not used to it. My head still spins at the thought of getting up and up it goes mostly when I’m high. Tired, and sleepy and mostly half awake, I think it’s gotten used to viewing part-reality.
The sofa springs bite into my back but I just twist and turn so they hurt different parts of myself. Moving is not an option. The pain is as routine as the chips. The packet never ends. It has been three days now. I suppose someone replaces it when it is finished. Perhaps one of the door openers, I haven’t seen the face. I’ve been looking at the back of my own eyelids with too much keenness.
I don’t break the bubbles in my knuckles now and it feels like my hand isn’t mine but a separate entity. Do I control it with my brain or a remote? How do I hold the remote?
There are crumbs of chips and salt everywhere, I feel it on my skin, much like the spring in my back, but they don’t leave a bruise, just an aftertouch, like the drowsiness after a deep sleep. But I haven’t been asleep, at all. Just half awake.
There was some smoke, I think I smelled it and it didn’t resemble the pot I was smoking and I didn’t get up to piss this time, I think the sleepiness did take over for a while, there’s wetness all around my unstretched legs. And why is it so hot over here?
The door didn’t open, I hear it fall off as it burns to a crisp. Perhaps it’s just a dream.

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