C1 Start

Start

Where am I going?

I have no idea what lies at the end of those stairs; I’m just climbing them, endlessly, for god knows how many minutes, hours, or days it’s been. I have no memory of who I was before the stairs, and I have no image of who I’ll become after them; it feels like it’s just now that I started existing. And something tells me, that in my adult form, I should’ve existed before, this is all I know for now, the candle in my hand, the walls surrounding me, dusty and old, I worry they might fall, the roundness of the building, like a tower from the inside, desperately trying to one up the sky.

I don’t think the stairs were created by humans; perhaps this is my divine punishment, and perhaps I deserve it, or perhaps the punishment is at the end of the road. I don’t recall what I did to judge whether or not I deserve this, but I know it hurts to think about it, and I know I can’t stop. I feel the suffocation, and I feel the need of others.

My face is unfamiliar to me. My memories, my people—it’s as if I were never born; all things are still new to me. I want to make mistakes like a child; I want to touch the stove and get scolded by someone, probably the person who birthed me, a mother if I’m lucky enough. The thought crossed my mind that this is the before-existence phase, that I’m a soul on the way of creation, and the only thing I know is that I’m a male, and if that’s the case, then creation is boring.

I thought and I thought, and I couldn’t decide whether this was the beginning or the end. I think that if I haven’t existed yet, I would rather not at all, since existing is painful, but maybe I would change my mind; I have all the time to think.

I’m weak; if a truck were to hit me, I would turn around and smile, and maybe I’m weak enough to want death and strong enough to accept it. Though I don’t think I have this option on the stairs, the only thing I can do is go up, and since I would rather do something than nothing at all, I go up, not knowing where I’m headed, and the only sound I hear is my footsteps. I was wrong; I can do other things; I can think; I can talk, though I have never tried to; I can hear; if I feel like it, I may dance; I may run up; I may sing; but I don’t feel like doing any of that; I’ve limited my actions to climbing and not stopping until I see the end.

Sometimes, I think of the person I may be, am I good or bad, I feel corrupted, I am cursed to climb so I must be bad, but I guess it’s not such a torture after all, I am not tired, I am not cold, I am not hot, I can breath well, my body isn’t aching, if I don’t make up awful ideas in my head I don’t feel anything, but I feel it won’t be long until I wilfully enter the prison of my thoughts, and it would be the only place I can’t escape, even after I escape the stairs.

They don’t change, they’re rhythmic, they’re repetitive, they smell the same, they feel the same, and even the imperfections are repeated, as if I’m in a simulation, as if none of this is real.

I know for a fact that time is passing because the candle is slowly dying; it may be dying too slowly, but at least it’s not the same as I first remembered it... I don’t remember anything.

For the first time ever, I stumbled on the familiar stairs; didn’t I know you so well? Similar bumps and corners—didn't I walk on you with my eyes closed? It was the first time I ever sat down, I stared at the red liquid on my knees, a delicious red, a new colour I so longed for, I want to see more of it, it’s beautiful, painful and worth all the pain, something about the way it shone heated my chest, my breathing is heavy, it’s very new to me that I’m not thinking well, I hugged myself as tight as the sinking of my stomach, perhaps it will pass, perhaps it will pass, perhaps it will pass…

I tossed and turned until my injury kissed the candle, "Ah!", that was the first time I heard my own voice, the growl I let out, wasn’t one of pain, it was one of pleasure, one of relief, I am alive, I can feel things, I laughed in between the tears, tears? When did I start crying? I exist…

I can’t recall how much time has passed; I didn’t find it important; it will continue to advance; and I have no deadline to meet; I don’t think I do. I sat for too long; I have to move, or I will get used to resting and find moving tiring. I have…

A cat? What’s a cat doing here? The question sounded silly in my head—what am I doing here?

"Why can’t I be here?"

It spoke.

"Am I not supposed to talk?" That’s rude!"

"No! Not that I know of... "I need to move."

"Well, why aren’t you moving?" "You should get up." It climbed up the stairs, and I followed, saying, "I’m the cat; I live here; are you a new one?"

a new one?

"You weren’t aware?" A lot of creatures are here, they just never meet, most of them keep count of days, like me, it’s my 40087th day here, I’m a bit different from others though, I go up and down as I please, that’s why I meet people, it’s boring alone, but it’s fun when you walk with people."

I can’t speak; my throat is burning; it’s like I ate the candle in my hand. I said that, but as I glanced down, I wasn’t holding anything.

"The candle is in your throat; the light is from the windows; why?" Have you never seen what’s outside? Come here."

The cat jumped on the window, it was closed, she used her paw to wipe the dirt of the glass, and told me to come closer, and I did, I felt she had more wisdom than me, and I had to obey her, I looked at the dark outside, there’s nothing to see.

"That is not what the world outside looks like; you went blind; you failed the test; you’re a climber; you shouldn’t want to be outside." "Here, grab this."

She handed me a rope, a leash maybe, as she walked. I knew she did it because I felt she was pulling me forward. I knew I wouldn’t fall because the stairs were my habitat, and now that I know them by heart, I won’t fall, not here; I can manage blindness.

My knees don’t hurt any more, and I have no memory of why they would hurt in the first place.

"I love… "I love dining rooms; the taste of quiet is fascinating to me. In a dining room, nobody is curious about the food; they would be in a restaurant, but not at home; they’re used to the same plates, the same utensils, the same water on the table; a typical rich, bored, bourgeois family would be very quiet and not ask any questions."

I couldn’t care less about what she said, but it was the only entertainment I had.

"Do you want to hear a story?"

I wanted to. I nodded, unsure if she saw me.

"It’s about a family I used to know, two boys, a mother and a father, they were rich, and, superstitious, they believed that vampires existed, and so every night, they would close all the windows and doors, the lock to room they go to had a password, only I and the father knew, 40087, all four of them would sleep in the same room, I’m not sure you know what sleep is, it’s a state of calmness, it’s like death, except you’re alive and only unconscious, for most, that’s the case, sleep is very related to death, did you know that, we call sleep a temporary death, and we call death an endless sleep, it’s funny to me, and I guess it is to you too."

I want to hear more about the family.

"You should try it sometime; maybe then you’ll finally escape your thoughts, but you wouldn’t be actually escaping, especially if you dream; do you know what a dream is?"

I can’t answer her or tell her that I don’t want to know any of that; if there’s anything I want, it’s more information about the family.

"A dream is a story; it is said that it shows you what you deeply desire; it’s the voice of the subconscious; a lot of people interpret their dreams; they go to shamans for explanation; I don’t believe in dreams, and if I did, I wouldn’t tell others about my most vulnerable secrets; I’m not stupid." But you know, I think humans are, they are very stupid. Hahaha…"

The cat started laughing, and I wanted to talk.

"I just remembered an encounter I had with a beggar once, I’m rich, and I don’t try to hide it, I always go out with your father", my father? "to fancy places, of course a lot of people would stare, but no one had the audacity to speak to us, well except beggars of course, they were bold and fierce, I couldn’t petty them, I was always mean to them, and my sons saw me being mean, the problem is, if I could go back in time, I would do the same thing, are you wondering why?"

No, I’m not; I have a father.

"I don’t want to change the past, because I like how the future turned out. My elder son is very successful; he’s a lawyer, and I’m very proud of him. The younger is... "I don’t care about him enough; he used to drink."

"I have never tasted alcohol!" I finally spoke, my mouth covered in blood. It tasted like iron and hurt to talk, so I didn’t add anything else.

"I could smell it in you all the time." "Was it your lover who got drunk?"

I didn’t have a lover; I didn’t understand why my mother would think that about me; why did she make assumptions? Why did she find excuses for my failures? Why did she view me as a failure? What did I do in the past? What did I do? What did I do? Who am I?

A cat? Why is there a cat on the stairs?

"I’m your mum."

Huh? I have a mother. I am someone. I exist…

"I am your dream, son."

I gasped for air, and I I woke up, I was asleep; I don’t remember sleeping. I looked at my knees; they were scraped; I looked beside me and saw the candle; and I looked at the walls, and there were no windows. This is normal; this is good.

I got up and started walking up again, and with every step I made, I hoped to never meet the cat. I can feel fear now.