FUNHOUSE

  I’d never been fond of the City. You’re forced into roles you otherwise would never get into, but I was content to accept my little corner in it, living every day the same -- that acceptance was my very own brand of freedom. The simple fact that I do this because I am willing breathes life into me.
Though, like anyone else, there are times when my mind wanders. Times that I hope for something new. Most days I sit by my window, watching passively the goings-on of my neighborhood. During the Night in the Backstreets, I’ve seen plenty of neighbors and strangers get dragged from their homes by others, mutilated, melted, and swept away shortly following. Just a year ago, this sight was brand new to me. I’d watch it every night, regardless of my schedule, regardless of how I feel. Now, it’s become stale. Every variation of conflict a neighborhood like this could have has happened before my very own dull, tired eyes. Most nights I don’t bother anymore. While my Ahn could be well-spent on a television set, I fear that its entertainment would soon become dull too.
My greatest entertainment now is in my attempts to piece together every prior night. Recently, I’d decided to end my nights drowned in alcohol, falling asleep in a drunken stupor, waking to a splitting headache and broken memories. It’s an activity that brings me the most simultaneous suffering and joy, feelings of which I seek desperately as a sign of life. Yet, it becomes just another piece of my daily puzzle. Wake, think, work, drink, sleep, wake…
Without a calender, no day would feel different from any other.

	On my way home from work, my boredom reaches its peak. It’s another day where I simply must change the monotony of my routine. I simply can’t bear another evening like all those prior, so I drag myself toward the street adjacent mine in hopes of finding something to satiate myself. While wandering, bright neon lights strain my vision. I blink, squinting up at them. They form a word: “FUNHOUSE!”
…Funhouse? I lean over and peek at the building. It lacks windows to peer through, and the building is painted dark, an eerie shade of black that absorbs nearly all the light around it. The neon sign is the only thing reflected against its umbral walls. Everything points to this building being terribly suspicious. All the more reason to enter.
	I open the door, and the building’s interior reveals itself to be equally as dark as its exterior. I take a few steps inside, and I can’t tell where I am or if I’m even standing on anything. My hands are shaking just slightly, and I get the sudden urge to check behind me. The door is still wide open, the sun’s dimming light bleeding inside.
I shut it, subjecting myself to the deep darkness. The door’s handle seems to fade away in my clutch, my fist balled around nothing now. I feel around helplessly for the door, for anything, but nothing remains.
I’m trapped.
A flash. I wince, my eyes shutting doing nothing to keep the sudden bright light from my vision. I lift my hand and cover my face, slowly opening my eyes in an attempt to adjust and get my bearings. I glance around underneath my palm. The floor feels different, and with illumination is clearly in a checkerboard pattern. I stamp my right foot. The ground somehow feels more solid, and is a discernible material. A material I’m not familiar with, something luxurious… I can’t get another thought through my head before I realize I’m surrounded by mirrors. My eyes, now adjusted, allow me to get a proper look at my surroundings without a hand covering my view. I extend my arms in an attempt to gauge distance, and as I turn my body I realize I’m fully surrounded by mirrors at arm’s length. Then, the reflections begin to warp. The room looks unreal for a moment as the floor ripples beneath me, and I lose my footing. Somehow, before I realized it, the floor gave way, and I am free-falling. I touch my face as if it’s brand new. My mouth is wide open -- I’m screaming. My throat hurts, my lungs are straining, but I’m still screaming. 
Why can’t I hear anything?
What’s happening? 
Why?
The light fades, the darkness once again envelops me before the light creeps back in once more. The light fades and brightens constantly, its speed increasing. I want to cry. My hair is fluttering in the wind.
If I hit the ground, I will die.
I will die.
I shut my eyes.
...This is okay.
Death is okay.
I’ll be okay.
I’m okay.
This is it.


Ground. Solid ground. The fear drains from me as I slowly open my eyes, blinking.
I’m back in the dark, but I’m on actual ground. I touch it. I smack my hands against it just to know it’s real, tears welling up in my eyes. I’m alive. I look ahead, and a mirror is already facing me. I look awful, my hair’s a mess, I’ve tear streaks down my face, but for the first time I’m smiling. The relief I feel is unbelievable. I reach out, attempting to touch the mirror, but it falls with a loud thud. I get up in an attempt to find it, but just like everything else, it’s gone.
Click.
I look behind me, and catch the door opening itself. The cool breeze from outside snakes its way in, making me shudder. I’m alive. I survived.
I chuckle to myself, a sound so foreign to my body it comes out like a wheeze. I stagger toward the door, and stare back up at the sign.
“FUNHOUSE!”
I wonder, for a moment, how they opened up, how they manage to use such impossible technology so freely, and how they can do this without asking for even an Ahn in return. For a moment, I consider that it may be an experiment I’m unwittingly participating in. However, does it really matter? If it is, this experiment has brought me joy -- real, authentic joy. I’ve never felt this way in my life. It's like it was made for me. If things are different tomorrow... I have to go again, even if it really kills me this time.

	I’m back. I ended up calling off work for the day, just for this.
I glance around. The street is empty.
I crack open the door, peering inside. Once again, nothing there. I wonder if this place gets any business at all.
I step inside, shutting the door behind me and bracing myself for another wild ride like yesterday. Nothing happens.
I wait longer still -- absolutely nothing.
I sigh, and turn around, grasping at where the handle would be. No handle. I splay my hand against what should be the door. No door. That means I’m inside and it’s working. Or it worked, and stopped.
I’m stressing myself out; I pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration. I pace in circles.
I might really be stuck -- that won’t do, I have work tomorrow. If only I had my phone with me, but I wonder if the technology they’re using would even allow a signal to get through? I can’t imagine -- I stumble forward, the foot I put forward hadn’t found any ground. I’m falling. I’m screaming, but my head is much clearer this time. Still, my body braces itself as the time I’d hit the ground previously approaches. I’m braced. My body is a shield.
I’m still falling. My heart is racing, I place my hand over my heart and feel it beat. This wasn’t unexpected, but the difference is scary enough. I still haven’t hit the ground. The longer this takes, the more tension I can feel in my heart. It’s coiling.

Ground. Solid ground, equally as abrupt as the day before. My lungs hurt. I grasp at my neck, and I realize I’m panting. I push myself up, my arms shaking, and hold my knees. There’ll be more. There has to be more. I clench my teeth, shaking -- click. I peer behind me, and find the door open. I hobble over to it, leaning against its ‘frame.’ It really is the door.
Somehow, I’m disappointed.
Tomorrow, I’ll come back.
Every day, I’ll come back.
I’ll experience it. All of it. I’ll milk this down to its last drop. I’ll make the most of it.
I’m already there. I can tell. And I’m still there, still experiencing it. I don’t know how many times it’s been already. Every time, it's different. As if it expects how I'll adjust, changing just for me. It's blissful. I've seen people in there, too. The place is a legitimate business, nothing shady at all. It must’ve been coincidence. Yes, everything has been coincidence right from the start, hasn’t it? I can finally take it easy, soaking in the experience. Coincidence. Everything has been coincidence.
But there’s still something.
I just wish I could hold this peace, but it’s an insatiable itch.
Whenever I enter or leave, it’s evening.
Every time, without fail. Even when I’d called off work. I thought it was the morning.
No.
No, I just sleep late. I’m always tired and get my memories jumbled, I must’ve called off right before sleeping and let myself rest until the evening.
But the weather, it’s exactly the same. A dull, grey evening.


...No. That’s not right.
I can’t accept that.

There’s a pit in my stomach.

I’m dizzy.

What if I haven’t left at all?

The evening. It’s never been any other time.

No, no, no. I wake up. I go to work. I remember.

	No, I don’t. I don’t, actually.

I’m not here, am I?

	Or I am. But not here.

Where am I really?

	Something happened. I’m not myself.

No. I’m me. I have to be.

	I might puke, if I still can.

I’m solid.

	I’m malleable. I’m clay. Give me a hand, please.

I have to be strong.

	Put me down.

I choose this. I choose to suffer like this. To stay awake.

	I don’t want to. Please, let me go.

I’m stable.

	I’m holding my breath.

I’m stable.

	I’m falling.


Stop thinking.


My body never hits the ground.




My vision swims -- I’m awake. I can barely make out two warped figures in front of me. Their clothing is eccentric, and they’re holding bladed weapons.
There’s light. Dark, too. The checkerboard pattern -- we’re in the funhouse.
I can’t move. I can’t feel my limbs. But it feels like I can feel everything. I can feel their feet digging into the floor, one of them stamping impatiently. I can feel them shift.
The impatient one begins to grumble about something. My ears... I can barely hear... It's hard, but I make something out.

“This thing’s… Paygrade… Plague…”

Fixers.
They’re Fixers.
Am I being targeted?
Me?
My eyes. How am I seeing them? Am I seeing them...? It's overwhelming. Everything is overwhelming, I feel like someone's standing on my chest -- it hurts.
I'm shaking.
“...Over with... Reacting... Refuse to...” 
Their voice is loud. They must be upset. My head aches...
Leave me alone...
Please, stop doing this to me.
I shake violently. Somehow, they look more surprised than I am. The impatient one lifts their blade.
My arms won't come up.
The blade comes down.
All I may do is watch.