Room 326

        I paused outside the door of room number 326, instinctively reaching for the icy-cold doorknob and turning it a few times, confusion building in my worn-out mind as it met a firm resistance. Of course the door was locked. I fumbled in the pocket of my pants for the key, jammed it into the lock as quietly as I could, and turned the knob slowly.
     
        I was met by complete darkness, and the stillness only palpable in an empty apartment room. It took me only a few moments to adjust my eyes to the darkness; soon enough, I was able to make out the silhouette of the large living room table and each separate chair, the window, along with the balcony, dimly lit by the pale moon. I could make out the shape of the vase full of white roses standing tall on the desk, the fancy ribbon still tied on. It looked strangely out of place in the hauntingly empty room, especially in the dark. But it wasn’t even that dark anymore, I realized; if you stay in the darkness long enough, you’ll eventually be able to see. Funny how we can get used to almost anything. I reached my hands to flick on a light switch, which instantly lit up the whole room in a warm yellow glow. The sudden brightness hurt my eyes, and I contemplated turning off the lights again, until I noticed that everything was just the way it had been when I left the apartment this morning; the roses, the half-open window, my grey jacket suit hanging on one of the chairs, the remains of this morning’s breakfast. A bowl encrusted with dried up muesli lay expectantly in the basin, alongside a bowl of half-eaten macaroni cheese. The artificial cheese was congealed, leaving a strange orange grease stain on the porcelain bowl. A few cans of beer lay strewn along the kitchen counter. I threw them into the trashcan one by one, listening to the metallic clank each beer can made when it hit the bottom. The deafening sound resonated through the still apartment, almost echoing in the night.
   
        After the fourth and last can hit the bottom of the trashcan, I suddenly felt lost. The blinking green digital watch on the microwave told me that it was only 10:38pm. I grabbed another can of beer from the refrigerator, and decided to go turn on the television. I plopped down into the large two-person sofa, something that I’ve always been proud of. I absentmindedly stroked its creamy leather as if it were a large pet, and flicked the TV on. A woman talked in an obnoxiously loud voice, screeching with laughter every time her co-host said something only mildly amusing, stretching her bleached white teeth into an exaggerated smile that did not light up her make-up encrusted eyes. I immediately changed the channel, staring blankly at a baseball game for a few moments, then once again changing the channel. The weather forecast, a soap opera, a murder mystery, a romantic comedy. Everything was incessant noise that made my head throb.
     
    I eventually switched off the television, and looked towards my mahogany bookshelf, standing tall in the left corner of the room. A dozen or so books lay strewn on the floor, like a pile of abandoned refugees, some lying open, some of which I have never noticed before. I picked them up and carefully stacked them back on the shelf, taking care to orient them alphabetically, the way they had been organized for the past few years. It was quite time consuming, which was a relief. After carefully slotting in the last novel, a woman’s romance piece, I stood back to admire the finished product. The bookshelf hadn’t been this neat for ages; I had done a good job, considering the fact that it had never been in my interest to organize things around the apartment. After the glory had worn away, I was once again faced by the hounding silence of an empty room. Then I had an idea. I walked over to the large CD player, and turned it on.

      A familiar tune played, the lingering melody getting caught in my throat. I grabbed another beer from the fridge, sank into the sofa and closed my eyes, allowing myself to be carried away by the mingling melodies and memories. The ghost of a lively young couple danced past the living room, their feet lightly touching on the wooden floor as twirled past in a flourish of carefree laughter, holding on to each other, trapped in their own private world cut away from reality.