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Nightmare Diaries: Hotel Linens

Disclaimer: This rambling may be disturbing to some and/or contain triggers.

“Why are hotel linens always so white?”

Of all the thoughts racing around in my head, that is the one that somehow manages to untangle itself from the mess. I don’t really mind though.  It means one slowed down enough to be more than an incoherent blur.  It means the medicine is starting to work.  Soon enough, I’ll feel calmer and will be able to breathe again.

It’s as good a thing as any to focus on really.  It’s even oddly relevant.

I talk the puzzle out to myself, quietly, so I don’t disturb anyone.  Not that it matters.  I’m all alone here, but I guess old habits die hard.

Thinking of all the things that must happen on hotel linens, it makes sense. White is easy to launder, and especially bleach.  It won’t fade, the colors won’t run with the heavy-duty chemicals they use to get out god knows what.  Just a simple textured pattern on the blankets to keep things from looking too harsh, and they’re good to go for the next guest.

But it can be so very boring visually.

I stretch, feeling that textured white coverlet beneath my skin.  As I do, I notice my body feels heavier than before, and I can focus on individual thoughts.  I really am feeling calmer.  Soon, as the chemicals really take hold, I’ll sleep.  I won’t be able to fight it.  Not that I want to anyway.  Tonight, sleep is more than welcome here.

Opening my eyes, I look down and notice that my skin really isn’t more than a couple of shades darker than the linens.  Normally, my short hair on the pillow would be the only splash of color.  But things are different tonight.

Looking to my left, I can see the spreading red-purple stain on the linens.  A disturbingly pretty shade against all that stark white. 

My thoughts wander more as my body begins feeling heavier.  I mentally go through my list, reminding myself that everything is done.  My few possessions are packed; my ID is out on the edge of the bed.  Letters have been mailed to the few people who will notice me gone.  Arrangements, final wishes are included in those letters, as well as here in the room with my identification.

I feel a little bad for the hotel staff, but it’s too late to worry about that now.  My body no longer feels heavy.  Instead, I’m drifting.  My vision is narrowing and getting darker as sleep approaches.  I close my eyes, happily falling into the dark for once.   

 

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