Hotel Room

Hotel Room
by Kyle Dudley

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4/29/2028

'Lost time is never found again'
– Benjamin Franklin

Another year older. Is it possible that time has gotten away from me so drastically?

I was driving in a fog. The unchanged, lush green corridor leading from southeast Louisiana to Houston provided a dubious backdrop for my altered state. It had not changed a bit since I last remembered it. How did I get here?

I started to remember: I was headed to Houston on business. Thoughts and memories of my purpose were starting to be pieced together but I still couldn't be sure of what was what. I was opening the mail letter by letter from my fragmented minds' mailbox after what must have been a long mental vacation, hoping for clues.

Apparently for the last 25 years I had been in sales. There was a company watch on my wrist that indicated a confirmation of this. I acknowledged the inherent uncertainties in making such assumptions but in this case decided to take the evidence at face-value.

I made it to the Louisiana border near Vinton and had to re-hydrogenate my car. A pack of cigarettes and 670 cu-cm of HydroLean® set me back a harsh $57.80. I asked the girl behind the service desk how prices were lately and she said that that's about what you can expect, at least around here, though she may not have been the right person to ask.

I was still a solid hour and a half away until I had to worry about hitting the fringe traffic from Houston. I dont think I have been to Houston since the war started, but I heard from a friend in Alexandria that they were thinking about taking the deal from The H.Y... I don't really see what they stand to gain, but I don't speak for the people of Houston. We have our own host of problems in New Orleans as it is. I don't remember much, but I do remember a time when things were a lot simpler.
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6:26pm
4/29/2028

After a few hours more of expanse-driving across southeast T., I finally reached the city. Once you pass the barracks at Mont Belvieu, you have relative free-range to drive around within the city. I think the protection is a bit of overkill but who am I to say. I mean, we all really know that it is overkill, no one wants to admit it though. Maybe if I lived here my opinion would be different. I guess those of us who are still under Union protection live in a bubble, or so they say. It's not like it matters. Memento mori. Morituri te salutamus.

After mindlessly floating through the unconscious city, I came-to and pulled out a scrap of notebook paper from the glove-box. It was instinctual- nothing else was offering any clues. I didn't recognize who it was written by, but it wasn't done by me. It was written in someone else's handwriting, a woman's handwriting. It read in small red ink, 'Gray Street Motor Lodge, 20304 Montrose St., Houst., T., They will be expecting you.' This was where I was instructed to go.

When I finally got to my hotel I was beginning to lose track of my purpose again. It seemed I didn't have any merchandise in my vehicle, but I could dimly remember a conversation I had before leaving for Houston that said something about selling contracts. What sort of contracts? And what do I know about them? Who sends someone off without telling them their purpose? Whatever the case, I was here, and I could settle all of this after I checked in.

The bellhop Lazlo helped me with my bags up to my room. He could see the weariness in my face from what probably appeared 14-15 hour drive, which was closer to 6. Age had carved canyons into my once delicate cheek, my hair was worn like an old shag carpet. My clothes now hang upon a formless grotesque chassis.

Before he left, the young man with the young cheek and the young chassis turned to me and said, 'I hope you enjoy your stay with us here, Mr. L'. I waited a long pause, nearly long enough for him to leave without hearing a response from me. We were locked in eye contact though, and for him to break the stare would be poisonous for our future encounters. I kept staring, across the space and into the soul of this confused young man, and finally said to him, 'This world has fucked me. Don't let it fuck you the same way.' He sheepishly smiled, and said softly, 'I'll try to remember that'.
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4/30/3041
'Time goes, you say? Ah, no! Alas, time stays, we go.'
- Henry Austin Dobson

I feel safe writing this, because enough time has passed. At first, I was hesitant to leave any time- capsule behind, but as we know, it's going to happen again. To the next of you who come across these words, please, be kind to us in your histories. We were not ready for what we were given. Freedom is for the free- those who have never known true freedom from the start will not even have a chance to properly embrace it. We did what we could, and unfortunately failed. I wish you and yours the best of luck going forward.

Thx,

Mr. L.
Former Writer and Editor of Earthly Time and Travel destination articles, Iginis fatuus Magazine, prior to the collapse.