Sweet Sick Teen 34

Left all alone again, the Girl ambled off, looking for someplace she could rest and relax. The cheapest place she could afford was a place called “Ye Ol’ Inn and Out”, where you could “Sleep Like the Dead!” If that wasn’t a ringing endorsement, she didn’t know what was.

At the Receptionist’s desk was a tired-looking man who was resting his head against his arm on the table, listening to a long-winded complaint.

“Sir, there’s blood on the ceiling of my room!”

The Concierge opened his sleepy eyes. “Oh yeah, I’ve been meaning to clean that up.”

The Guest was livid. “I don't want to live anywhere where somebody died violently.”

The Concierge got up and put a comforting hand on the Guest’s shoulder. “I've got some bad news for you.”

The Girl bypassed the riveting conversation. Any other time, she’d be enthralled in overhearing salacious gossip, but she was simply too tired.

She moseyed her way towards the vast wall of hexagon-shaped outlets, until she chose one in the corner that was vacant. Before getting in, she adjusted the settings for how long she wanted to sleep, and get a nice cleansing. Six hours should be long enough. She was fortunate that this place accepted foreign currency.

Once the money had been accepted, she pulled the handle, and a compact bed rolled out. She got in, and put her bag over her slightly bulging belly before it rolled back inside the wall. This wasn’t too tight, since these tubes could contain up to two people who wanted some “private time”.

In the meantime, the Concierge was trying to reassure his Guest that contrary to what he said, his Inn wasn’t a hot spot for killings. He explained that in all probability at some point in history, predating the foundation of the Inn, there was a murder that took place in one of the rooms. Even being elevated to a higher level didn’t lower the guarantee, as foundations were being lowered and raised all the time.  The world was a dangerous place and littered with deaths taking place anytime without warning.

As she got in the tube, the last words she heard were;

“If that revelation makes you uncomfortable, just remember, the opposite is true. Someone could’ve easily given life where you’re standing.”

“That doesn’t make things any better! It just makes it worse!”

Once shut inside, she shut the conversation out of her mind. What did it matter who lived or died? It wasn’t as if the guy knew any of these people personally.  She stuffed her bag inside the compartment “above” her, where it’d be safe. Then, once the conditions were set, tiny little sprays of water covered her entire body, dampening her clothes. Then, equally small powerful puffs of air pumped through the same holes where the water was, drying her out. It was a crude process, but under the circumstances, it worked.

Only when the procedure stopped, did she allow herself to relax. Other people in sleep-deprived conditions were known to have accidentally mixed up the orders for washing and sleeping, and had to cope with being cleaned all night long. Once the lighting went off, she lay down and closed her eyes.

Five minutes later, she reached for her bag to get some noseplugs, since her smell was starting to affect the confined corridors of this tube, which was made more difficult operating in the dark. She should’ve gone for the switched order after all. Sure, there was the danger of sleeping in a bed that doubled as a bath, but at least she’d feel clean.

Having inserted the plugs up her nose, she fitfully tried to get back to sleep, but the cramped conditions, the nausea and her bulging belly made comfort next to impossible. Still, her fatigue was beginning to take its toll, and she was no longer able to resist after the toil taken over the course of the day, and despite the continuous distractions, she eventually fell into a restless sleep.

She was forcibly woken up a few hours later, when the interior suddenly shone with a bright light ahead of schedule. She tried to block it out, but it was noticeable even with her arms over her eyes. Then the light turned on and off multiple times, making it more noticeable and annoying.

“Alright, alright! I’m getting out!”

She grabbed her stuff and rolled her bed out of the slot. Anybody outside trying to get inside was impossible without permission. Before her stood the Concierge, carrying what looked like a large brush. It was so big the handle rested on the floor, and the bristles hung over his head.

“Sorry,” he yawned, “but your smell is clogging up the filters.” The filters were microscopic holes barely visible to the naked eye, and were what made being able to sleep in these airtight coffins without suffocating possible. If the Concierge hadn’t interfered, it’s likely her stench would have spread throughout the other beds in the place, and then he’d have to spend more time cleaning up all the asphyxiated bodies. He was already way behind schedule as is, and didn’t need more corpses added to the pile.

He also could’ve opened her bed by using his Master Key, but wanted to check for signs of life first. This kind of thing happened more often than you’d think.

As her eyes adjusted to the surroundings after being submerged in near-darkness, she noticed it was still early. “I’ve still got time left!”

“Yes yes, fine here,” the Concierge said, reaching into his pocket and stuffed some money in her hand. She was about to choose another bed on the opposite side, when the Concierge stopped her. “Sorry, I can’t allow you to sleep here. You could wind up clogging the other air vents, and I can’t take that risk.”

“Where am I supposed to sleep then?”

The Concierge made a gesture to follow, and she willingly obliged. He led her through a series of winding paths, past rooms where rows of people were sleeping silently. If she wasn’t so groggy, she might’ve noticed the numerous writings along the blank canvases of the walls in small and large print, all saying the same thing:

“All work and no play makes Jack a good boy.”

They kept going through multiple hallways, up and down stairs, and soon enough, she was lost in the winding path. The Girl figured she must be going to some secluded out-of-the-way spot where she wouldn’t be much of a bother to the other Guests. Finally, they reached a door, which the Concierge unlocked. Upon stepping through, the Girl found herself outside. “There’s a hotel across the street. Use that.” And with that, he shoved her out.

The Girl looked at the one-way door which was now locked, then back at the Grand Inn Temple, the recommended location of choice. Compared to the other Inn, this looked more like a mausoleum. She was too tired to be mad. She was considering going in there for some well-deserved rest, when it occurred to her that she’d just been handed some extra money. Assuming it wasn’t just limited to renting out rooms, she could use this to pay back her tab.

If she’d known about this risky scheme of being thrown out of a rental/refund lodging much earlier, we would have a much less interesting story. Not to mention there was no guarantee that this trick would’ve worked in the first place. Which is why this didn’t happen until now, so you can bet that she’s going to lose her money very soon.

She stood in front of the entrance, hemming and hawing over her decision. Pay for rest now, or pay off her debt later? She was alternating between the two decisions, when she was abruptly shocked by the Proprietor of the place who opened the door and handed over a bill.

“If you’re not going to come inside, I’m going to have to charge you for sleeping out front.”

“Wha - I wasn’t asleep!”

The Proprietor cast his sharp eyes at her. “It doesn’t matter if you’re outside the property. It doesn’t matter if you’ve barely rested for five minutes. What matters is someone taking advantage of our generosity.”

“Fine, let me in.”

“Not smelling like that, you’re not!”

“The bill fines me for a whole day. If I’m sleeping here, I might as well get my money’s worth.”

After some hesitation, the Proprietor grudgingly let her in. “Very well. Follow me then.”

The Proprietor made his way inside, past the portraits on the walls whose eyes followed their every movement before they turned away or rolled up in disgust from the stench. He chose his path carefully, making sure to keep far away from the other Guests who would’ve been irritated by the presence of this new arrival. But shortly after a few steps, he couldn’t hear her footsteps anymore, and saw that she had disappeared.

The Girl wasn’t falling for being chased out again. She’d just hide out and hope she wouldn’t be noticed. The layout of the interior was similar to the other Inn, save for the difference that the beds in the walls were more tightly packed together. This was so the place could accommodate more visitors inside.

When she rounded the corner, she saw people who were continuously being wrapped and unwrapped in large swaths of binding surrounding their entire bodies, like mummies. Once they were fully bound, they were stuffed into the holes mounted to the side of the walls. Some were guided along with helpers who pushed them in. Others were able to fit themselves through a series of basic sliding mechanisms without outside help.

Unlike the other Inn, where everybody was shunted inside their beds headfirst, here they were packed into their resting places feet first. Their heads were resting on uplifted supporters. Despite the frightening spectacle, they all wore contented expressions on their faces. That was until one of the Guests noticed her presence, and raised their attention, waking all the others up.

“What’s that awful smell?”
“Smells like somebody died.”
“Hey, somebody died here!”
“Somebody died here?”
“Well, these gauzes are deathtraps!”
“We’re caught in deathtraps? ”
“What are they binding us up for?”
“To harvest our organs!”
“And suck our brains as we sleep!”
“Lemme outta here!”
“Shhh! I’m trying to sleep.”

The Guests’ increasingly panicky remarks while an amusing distraction, were nonetheless stinging. She’d been in the Forest of _____ for such a long time she’d forgotten just how much her condition made her a social pariah unwelcome in the presence of company alone.

The Girl tried to reassure the screaming heads. “No, I don’t smell... that much...”

“YEAH, RIGHT!!” they yelled in unison.

In the City of Lies, people told so many lies that it was practically the only way they knew how to live. Telling the truth only led to punishment, so they learned to lie by default. So when they were faced with an undeniable truth that pierced through their defences, it caused unimaginable pain to their well-being.

Take for instance, the Guest who was arguing with the Concierge earlier. Not long after, he had developed an uncontrollable twitch. He kept looking around, trying not to think about all the life and deaths that had happened at any point in time. That patch of sky in the upper corner there? There might’ve been a building there once, where somebody was brutally murdered. Or did the nasty. Or killed someone before getting down and dirty. Or made out with a corpse. The possibilities were endless.

Everywhere he looked was filth and perversion and decay. Nowhere was safe. The perfectly innocent words of the Concierge had awakened deeply disturbing thoughts that never should have been noticed. He couldn’t rest until he found someplace that hadn’t been contaminated, and kept backing away from whatever horrifying unseen sights were lurking in the corners.

If he’d remained ignorant of how much life and death happened, he would’ve remained blissfully oblivious. Ironically enough, facing an uncomfortable truth early on was better in the long run, while being swallowed up in a comforting spouted lie was most likely to cause future harm.

Usually, the typical self-defence response for someone recoiling from the truth would be to double-down and deny what was happening right in front of them. And in this instance, the Girl’s feeble defences failed.

She’d gotten so used to the fishy smell emanating from her that she forgot about it at times. Those times were the best, because she didn’t have to remember about them. And then in the morning, she’d wake up, sniff, and find that despite all her best attempts, she still smelled. She could lie to others all she wanted, but she still couldn’t lie to herself.

No matter what precautions she took, she would forever be known as “that Smelly Girl”. She entered the City of Lies to escape that stigma, and it looked like it would follow her for the rest of her life.

And now that she was momentarily distracted, the Proprietor caught up to where she was and grabbed her by wrapping her up in the same binding material as the other Guests. This was accomplished at a distance, and was only made possible by years of practice of tying up unruly out-of-control Guests.