Hostel Hero

I walk in…….

Nervous……..

My heart is beating………and it is beating fast…….I’m no longer sure if I can actually hear it or just feel it…..

We have just checked in. This hostel is split into mini-houses……There is no central building, just mini houses fully equipped with their own shower blocks and kitchens.

When checked in and recieved our room key, the receptionist trembled as she handed the key over. I couldn’t hear but I swear she said a silent prayer under her breath.

As we walk over to our building, a fellow backpacker comes bursting out of the door, face as white as a ghost, and falls to his knees in front of me. His hands stretch out and grabs the denim on my jeans, just above my knees and starts to drag himself back to his feet.

Standing now, just clinging onto my T-shirt with a white-knuckle death grip, he looks up and stares at me. The whites of his eyes are bloodshot, and there seem to be no iris, just black holes of what seem like bottomless pupils…..

“There is no God in this place”….he whispers…..his voice is breaking but there are no tears…..

He releases his grip and pushes past me, almost knocking me over, and then breaks into a sprint.

And then he was gone.

Silence.

I look back at the door…….and start to walking towards it.

The door opens….an empty corridor. Numbered, locked rooms on either side leading towards a double swing door the end of the corridor: ‘Kitchen’

The double doors twitch invitingly with the draft of me having entered the building.

I walk the corridor………slowly.

My senses are overloaded. My survival instinct is kicking in and my peripheral vision seems to have doubled.

I take a breath and push the double doors.

And I see it.

 

The massacre.

 

The graveyard of unwashed pots and dishes…..…the spilled food on the floors and tables.

The fact that in order to walk, it strains my thigh muscles to lift my feet from the stickiness of the floor.

The house is detached…..and isolated……independent from hostel authority………and it’s descended into this chaos!

I brush the empty beer bottles from around the kettle and boil some water to wash a plate, a cup, a knife, a fork and a pot.

The water from the tap is hot, but I need boiling…….if I could have washed the plates in fire I would have.

I cook and eat.

It’s time to wash up.

……..

………

But I’ve already changed……….

……….

Just like Jack Nicholson in ‘The Shining’, I have already become part of the hostel…….and the hostel has become part of me.

“Don’t do it” the walls of the kitchen whisper……….. “No one will notice”…………. “It’s just a drop in the ocean anyway……no-one else in here washes the pots….…your plates don’t matter”

I look down at my lone plate…….“You’re right hostel”………”It doesn’t matter”.

I get up and walk to the door.

“Nooo!!!!!”

The core of my humanity is fighting against my brainwashed mind.

I emotionally bang my first on the door….“No!”

“I’M GOING TO FIGHT!”, I scream to the empty room.

“There’s no point”, the walls whisper back.

I try to make my way back to my plates…….to the sink……but the floor is so sticky…the hostel is fighting back.

I stretch to reach the plate, my fingertips trying to gain friction. The table is also sticky and the plate is locked down.

“Come on!……..Come ooon!!!!”, I strain….tears are streaming down my face from fear…….from emotion……..from fatigue.

The plate starts to give…..I’m winning!….I’m winning!!……..I’m peeling it from the table!!!!

“You can have the plate”, the room concedes as it relinquishes its grip on the plate, and it glides into my hands as if the table had turned to glass.

I make my way to the sink.

“Maybe just give it a quick rise from the tap?” The walls whisper, negotiating.

“I’M NOT AN ANIMAL!!!!” I shout to myself in the empty room. And I clear the sink and fill the sink with the holy water of fairy liquid.

I clean the plate, and the knife, and the pot, and the fork….and stagger out of the room.

The door closes behind me and I drop to my knees.

I had won!

Sometimes…..you just have to be…….a hostel hero!

Hostel Hero

Hostel Hero

#hostelhero

2 thoughts on “Hostel Hero

  1. Hostel Lament

    Where have all the good men gone
    And where are all the gods?
    Where’s the street-wise Hercules
    To fight the rising odds?
    Isn’t there a white knight upon a fiery steed?
    Late at night I toss and I turn and I dream of what I need

    I need a hero
    I’m holding out for a….

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