#shortstory – Rococotheory Writes

I’m Going Slightly Mad

May 20, 2025September 15, 2025 rococotheoryLeave a comment

I never thought I’d be one of those people. In the past, if I ever heard of people doing this I would think to myself ‘That is so stupid, why would they do such a thing’, but now I’m sitting in this taxi, driving down familiar streets to my new flat. Parts of my life are stuffed in the suitcases stacked around me in this black cab, the rest are on their way with the movers and we will hopefully be reunited soon. I also have Jack, my cat, in a carrier next to me. He’s very upset about this adventure we’re on, but I feel like it will be good for us. I keep getting flashbacks of me being in the flat with my ex Michael and his words ‘I can’t do this anymore’ and the only thing I can say to soothe myself is ‘Good riddance’. Jack and I are being driven to the flat I bought without ever seeing it. I saw the photos online, I sent a friend to have a look at it and then I bought it. For years and years, I had wanted to return to this city, to find some past version of my life I feel like I left behind. A time when things seemed simpler. I think I finally had that crisis which people come across at different stages of their lives, and for me that meant packing up my life and moving back to the past. It just feels more comfortable there. I’ve never been much of a future person. Every single time I’ve tried to imagine my future, I’ve been faced with this void, so I just stopped trying after a while. Creative solutions and what not.

I couldn’t afford a flat in the nice part of town, the one I used to love walking through. Green groves, stunning folliage in autumn, beautiful brick houses. However, I told myself that I can always go there for my strolls, my flat doesn’t have to be there. I look around me on the street where I will now live. The pavements are littered, the road looks a bit worn and bumpy, the houses are covered in that grime they absorb and it’s clear they haven’t been painted in years. I lug the suitcases up the stairs that are blotchy and some of the tiles have fallen off the walls in the close. It doesn’t bother me at all. It already feels like home.

When I’m finally through the door, I scan my surroundings. Everything looks fine as far as I can tell. The little corridor leads to a living room that also holds the kitchen and then off to the side there are the doors to the bedroom and the bathroom. So far it looks exactly like the photos. Everything seems clean and tidy. Unlived in. It came partially furnished because I told the previous tenants that they could leave their stuff if they didn’t want to take it with them, so I don’t have to worry about buying all the big furniture; wardrobe, fridge, bed. It feels surreal. How am I supposed to start this new life? What is the first thing I should do? Nothing feels ceremonial enough. I decide to unpack later and go to the shops first.

I go to the local. It’s a Lidl. I still remember it from my days as a uni student since we would often go there because it wasn’t very far away and it meant cheaper groceries. I put away some ready-meals, coffee, bread, butter and jam, among other things. I give Jack his food and set up his litter box. Then I sit down on the bed and lose time.

Something is wrong. The following morning when I go into the kitchen to make my coffee, I notice something in the space between the fridge and the countertop. I try to get it out and when I do it turns out to be some moldy pizza crusts. It looks as though they have been there for a while but I swear they were not there yesterday. Then, when I go to the bathroom, I see a puddle of stale yellow water beside the sink. That was also not there yesterday. I know I can be a bit oblivious sometimes, maybe slightly careless, but these things do not make sense. If someone asked me to swear on my life that I had not seen them there before, I would have done so.

What’s even more terrifying, when I check my phone I realise it’s not the following morning after all. Somehow three days have passed and I have no recollection of them. I know what this means, but I am so good at living in denial that I tell myself it’s fine. My new job doesn’t start for another ten days, so I have time to lose. I spend the day tidying up, finding even more things that were not there before. Jack follows me around, apparently just as confused as I am. My hands are itching again and I have bruises everywhere. I check my eyes in the mirror and they look slightly better than they have on other occasions, so I again tell myself it’s fine. I check under the sink where I put the recycling box and things definitely make more sense now. Not entirely though, because the flat seems to be in an inexplicably bad condition which would not have been my fault. It’s like it’s falling apart in a way that’s mirroring my emotional collapse. I had heard that this can happen, that sometimes the things around us; places, plants, people, respond to our own instability. I can’t think about that now because it’s too soon after the move, so I shove that in the part of my brain that remembers everything from my life before, and get on with the day. The moment the afternoon hits, I lose time again.

I go to the back of the house this morning, to the bins. I meet one of my neighbours there and the look she gives me is disgusting. We’re talking as I am putting away the recycling and although the conversation started out friendly enough with her asking me where I’m from, why I moved back and other niceties, by the time I empty my bag, she looks concerned and that’s exactly what I didn’t want. The last thing she asks me is ‘you said you’ve only been here for a week?’ I would have never asked someone that. But life goes on. I just hate that I can still rememer the sound of all the glass breaking. It makes me feel ashamed, when that was what I wanted to avoid.

Later that night is when it all truly goes awry. I am jolted awake and yet my brain is still dreaming. It’s as though one part of me is in the dream world and the other is in the bedroom. I am parched and want to reach for the water but then I am stuck talking to someone faceless. We are both looking at me in my bed, cowering underneath the covers, as an entity is sitting on top of the bedsheets, on top of my body. It’s a woman but she is covered in a slimy black substance, the heavy liquid dripping off her locks of hair onto my bed. She is petting Jack and repeating ‘I love you, my little boy, I love you, my little boy, I love you, my little boy’, while he is laying there, belly up. I remember feeling a kind of fear I have never experienced in my life, but I feel that fear in my body, the one underneath the sheets. Somehow it feels like a premonition. The me in the dream world is calm and collected as she asks the faceless person what’s happening, who that is. The faceless person tells me to look at her more closely, to think carefully. And then I realise what it means, because no one else could pet Jack like that, with him staying so calm. That’s when the version of me from the dream world disappears and I am just there in my body, hiding under the duvet, I swear I can still hear that entity and I am so afraid to look. It takes me half an hour to finally raise myself slightly to check to see if she’s gone. Jack is sleeping soundly between my legs and the room is empty. I drink an entire bottle of water and hide under the sheets. My hands itching, my whole body aching and dehydrated.

I’ve been sleeping on my friend Ivan’s sofa for the last few nights. I can’t go back there. The place frightens me. Not just the place, but my mind. I feel like I’ve lost it, like I’m slipping back into something I tried to forget. It’s not been an easy adjustment, mostly for Jack, because he is so afraid of anyone who isn’t me, that he has just been hiding under my duvet on the sofa. Ivan doesn’t know what’s going on. I have found myself in his bathroom several nights in a row looking at something that looks like coffee grounds in the toilet. I try to tell myself it’s normal to throw up sometimes, but even I can’t justify this. If only I could tell him, maybe I could change. But then Ivan asks me to join him for a night out and I can’t say no. Even though my anxiety about the fact that everything seems to be falling apart is strong, I feel like it is easier to just ignore it for the moment. He tells me there’s a new club that’s opened not far from where he lives in the city centre. He suggests we go for a drink to see what it’s like. I say yes.

As we approach the door to the club, there’s music blaring and the street is filled with people. Most of them outside for a smoke, but many seem to just be loitering about. When I have already gone through the door and received my stamp, I see Ivan stay behind to talk to someone he knows. I could go and introduce myself but the man at the door is already ushering me in and I really need a drink. I head to the bar which is right by entrance and order a whiskey on the rocks. Once I have that in my hand, I feel a woman, a member of staff, pull me along and tell me to go further into the bar, to follow the corridor that’s ahead. I don’t want to lose Ivan but there’s not much room there to just wait around, so I just figure I’ll see him in there. As I walk along the corridor, I get an eerie feeling. I take a sip of my drink and the moment I swallow it I feel a sharp pain in my right side. I ignore it and keep walking. At first, I see a group of people ahead of me in the distance, but their voices seem to echo and they disappear from my sight. The floor and walls of the corridor are black and it’s dimly lit by some sconces along the way. I think about turning back but I don’t listen to my gut. As I keep walking, it starts to feel endless and at some point I realise that the drink I held in my hand is no longer there. I start to feel a mild sense of panic but keep walking because I feel like there is no other choice. Then, just as I begin to believe that I would never see another human being again, I see a shape in the distance. I can only hear my breathing as I approach it and realise that it’s a little girl. She is also walking without looking back so I touch her shoulder gently to draw her attention.

‘Hey, what are you doing here?’

‘I don’t know,’ she says and clings to me. I can feel her shiver against me and I can tell she is scared. I swear I recognise her but I can’t place her. It’s like I know her but I’ve never met her.

She whispers to me:

‘Where are we?’

‘Honestly, I have no idea,’ I don’t want to lie to her. I don’t think we are in the club anymore.

‘Will you protect me?’

‘Sure I will. We’ll find a way out of here,’ I take her hand in mine and my heart breaks at how small it is, ‘Come on.’

We keep walking and neither one of us says anything. I am just as panicked as she is so I’m not sure I can say anything comforting. The corridor looks exactly the same as when I entered it, there seems to be no end to it. I try to find my phone, but I realise I no longer have my purse. Things keep slipping away from me, so I hold onto the little girl’s hand more tightly. My legs are starting to get tired and I have completely lost track of time. We could have been walking for minutes or hours. Eventually, she squeezes my hand and says: ‘Look!’

There is a faint light in the distance and as we keep going forward, quickening our step, it grows brighter and brighter. It is so straining on the eyes because we have been in such darkness, that I can’t even open them until we are fully out of the corridor and standing for a few seconds in the brightly lit room. When I finally look at my surroundings, I feel my heart sink. It doesn’t make any sense. We find ourselves in a hotel suite. Everything here is beige, from the carpet, to the furniture, to the walls. The television is on but it is stuck on static. The girl cautiously lets go of my hand and goes to look around. There is so much light in the room but it is all artificial. I go to the windows and realise the view beyond them is merely a screen. A nice sunny city view, with high-rises in the distance and even a bird or two in the sky, but they are not moving.

‘What now?’ she asks me and I can tell that her fear is still there. It is painful to look at her. Her little face is pulled into a frown and her eyes look slightly glassy as if she is about to cry. I go to her and give her a hug so that I don’t have to look her in the eyes.

‘I’m sure there’s a way out of here.’

We walk through the living room to the bedroom and there we find a door. At first it wouldn’t budge, but I really put my weight into it and we get it open. As we step through it, we find ourselves in a nearly identical hotel room. Same beige furniture, same static on the TV, same sunny skyline, however the layout is slighty different. I feel cold sweat on my back. I already had a feeling as to what we might find, and I am proved right. There is another door in the bedroom and yet again it leads us to another hotel room. I know I am hyperventilating, I am starting to lose count, because everything looks the same and I am already so tired, I think we go through two or three more doors before she starts crying and I just sit down on the sofa, feeling utterly helpless.

‘We’re stuck,’ she sobs, ‘Why did you make us stuck?’

‘It wasn’t my fault, I … ’ my words escape me for a second, ‘I don’t know how we got here.’

‘I didn’t want to be here. You brought me here,’

‘I didn’t mean to. I was just trying to fix it.’

‘Now we’re stuck!’ she shouts at me and wants to run away, but I grab her and hold her to me. I am afraid to let her run off, afraid to lose her in this maze.

I want to save her, I want to save myself. But it feels like our destiny is now one and the same and there is no escaping this loop we find ourselves in. Suddenly, I wish I could go back. I wish I could go back to the bar and not order myself that drink. I wish I could go back to Ivan’s and say no when he asked me to go out. I wish I could go back to my new flat and celebrate my arrival differently. I wish I could go back to my life before I moved back here and change the reason why I felt like I needed a fresh start. I wish I could go back and tell my younger self to stop the pattern before it becomes a loop.

The Trail.

February 4, 2024February 4, 2024 rococotheoryLeave a comment

Alice was getting ready for the evening. The black coffee she’d made earlier was slowly cooling in the pearly white ceramic cup. She was brushing out her amber locks, staring at herself in the mirror. Rowan was sitting by the window and watching her every move. He knew in his heart that this evening would be just like all the others but he tried to hope for a different outcome. He wanted to stand up and walk over to her, put his arms around her, feel the warmth of her body, but he knew she wouldn’t like that. It might irritate her.

‘Ok, I’m ready. Is there something we still need to do or get?’

‘No, we’re good. Come, sit by me and have a breather,’

Alice looked at him suspiciously but did what he asked. Rowan put his arm around her waist and they sat there for a while in silence. He saw it as a good sign. She was next to him and not running away.

Smoke and conversations swirled within the room. People were squeezed one next to the other so that they could hear what was said over the noise of the music. Alice was mingling with everyone. She floated through the room saying hello to people and asking them very direct and targeted questions that demonstrated how much she remembered about all of them. Meanwhile, Rowan had found one conversation partner and stuck with her. Diana was a timid girl with shiny eyes that reminded him of photos of guilty puppies. He was trying to come up with interesting topics to discuss but could only pull a few sentences from her on each of them. The only thing keeping him going was that he had taken one of the bottles of whisky and was pouring himself drink after drink each time his glass was about to be empty. Throughout their conversation, he kept watching Alice who was chatting away casually to a man he didn’t know. Rowan didn’t want to admit it but he couldn’t look away from this scene, from the way Alice was talking to someone else, touching his arm when laughing, showing her interest in him; an interest which Rowan thought belonged only to him.

The parquet floor was sticky with spilled drinks and, because of the din, Alice couldn’t hear the cosy squeak it created when people walked over it. While she was talking about the current rise in dangerous nationalism with Henry, an incredibly good-looking man, Rowan appeared at her side seemingly out of nowhere. He put his arm around her and kissed her cheek. Henry gave Alice a slightly baffled look because she blushed. She couldn’t think of what to say and it seemed as though Henry realised he had wasted his time here. Alice felt uncomfortable and said she’ll go for a smoke on the balcony to get some air, once again disappearing from Rowan’s grasp. Clearly he had been right in thinking that this evening would be like all others. As always, Alice was running away from him, making him feel like his company was repulsive to her. This happened every time they were out in public at social events. Alice seemed to constantly seek out other people to entertain her and, unfortunately, most of the time those people happened to be men. Rowan would be angry, would break up with her, if there wasn’t the other Alice.

The other Alice told him that she loves him and when they were alone together she stroked his beard softly and whispered the nicest things to him. Rowan was unable to leave that woman because he loved her so much, even if her alter ego hurt him so deeply.

Now he once again found himself face to face with a random man who looked at him not with envy but with a slight grin, amused and feeling pity for him. Rowan felt humiliated and left without saying anything. He didn’t understand if Alice was doing this on purpose. He had brought it up with her before but she had always successfully changed the conversation to something else entirely.

The party came to an end when a faint trace of sunlight could be seen from the window. The last ones left stumbled out of the flat, drunk on alcohol and socialising. Rowan sat on the bed and was looking outside the window at the quiet scene in the garden. A light wind was moving the tall blades of grass while the trees stood firm. Alice came into the room and smiled at him.

‘Let’s go to bed.’

This was so concise that Alice hoped that Rowan hadn’t noticed that she was feeling awkward and didn’t know what to say. She knew that he had definitely noticed her behaviour tonight. However, Alice was trying to reassure herself that she had done nothing wrong, that her behaviour was out of her control. Rowan was important to her. He loved her the way she had always wanted to be loved, but her heart was trying to escape this love every time it saw an opportunity.

‘I hope you had fun tonight,’ She said as she got into bed and put her hand on his back.

‘Why do you always run away from me?’ Alice was not expecting a confrontation just now. Rowan looked broken and she had a strong urge to give him a hug, yet she refrained. ‘You won’t even hold my hand.’

‘Rowan, stop. That’s not true,’ She took off her nightrobe and threw it on the floor. Rowan’s clothes were on the floor too, feeling abandoned, waiting for someone to show them care. Alice pulled the fluffy blanket around her and waited for him to join her and embrace her as if nothing had happened. However, Rowan stood up and went to the living room.

He poured himself another drink and smoked cigarette after cigarette trying not to think about how cold Alice was, how distant she felt even after all these years together. Alice was sleeping deeply when he returned to the bedroom. He lay down and stared at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to come, wanting to wake up to a different reality.

When Rowan opened his eyes all he could see were trees; a sea of brown and green stretching out before him. He felt the rough dirt beneath his feet and listened for any sounds but it was eerily quiet. There was a putrid smell in the air. It hit him suddenly and he placed his hand over his nose and mouth. As he turned around, he realised there was a sign behind him. It was a plain wood plank with an arrow on it, pointing in the direction of what looked like a guided nature trail. Despite the fact that he was confused and anxious, he moved towards the path, as if he knew that there was no other way to go.

He walked for what felt like hours. The path seemed never ending, all the trees looked identical. Rowan knew that if he strayed away from the trail he would never find it again. The sky didn’t seem to change, it remained a shade of in-between dawn and dusk. Finally, he noticed something in the distance. It stood out against the monotone colours all around him. Whatever it was, it glistened bright and pink. As he got closer, however, the colour changed, becoming more and more grey. Rowan stopped in his tracks when he could finally see what it was. Placed on a tree stump on the side of the path were a pair of breathing lungs. However, that was not what shocked him. Attached to those lungs was a mouth. The mouth was screaming. A silent scream that could not be heard but with every breath the scream was palpable and sent out a plume of smoke into the air. Rowan moved closer and smelled the unmistakable scent of cigarette smoke in the air and despite how repulsed he felt, he couldn’t help but wish for a cigarette at that very moment. He reached out his hands to touch the slimy surface of the organ that was doing its best to keep up with the breaths of the mouth but the moment he touched it, it vanished.

He knew he should be horrified, that he should panic, but instead he felt calmer than he had in a long time. He knew that something about this was right, that he needed to go on and see what else this trail had in store for him. The forest no longer seemed frightening. It seemed to offer the answer he had been so desperately seeking. Once again, Rowan had to walk for a while before he found his next answer. On a wide and mossy rock he saw a liver. It had been pink in the distance but, just as before, when he approached it, it slowly turned a shade of yellow, shrivelling into something grotesque. Rowan tried to make out what was on it. It looked like there may be holes in it or a pair of buttons sewn to the tissue but then he realised that there were eyes on it. He tried to stomach the scene. The eyes stared at him desperately, pleading, and tears fell from them, trickling down over the dying liver. Rowan closed his own eyes and reached out his hand to touch it. He wanted it to disappear just like last time. And it did.

Something about those eyes had shaken him, because he realised that they looked just like his own. He had heterochromia so it had been unmistakable. This felt like more than he bargained for and he started to realise just how important it was that he was here.

His steps became more cautious. As much as he wanted to know the rest, it was still a lot to take in. The message was already clear but he felt like he was not done just yet. He knew that it would be obvious when he had reached the end.

The object stayed red and shiny even as he got closer to it. It’s as though time stopped when Rowan knelt down before the tree hollow. Inside there was a human heart, beating with all its might. It was held in the palm of a hand. With every beat the hand seemed to squeeze the heart a little tighter. Everything around him was still quiet and the only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat and it seemed to match that of the heart in the hollow. The hand started to contract harder, fingernails digging into the tissue of the heart, leaving specks of red under them. He recognised the hand from the cigarette burn next to the middle finger which he had gained after a night of particularly heavy drinking. The hand kept squeezing until the heart gave out, sending splatters of blood against his face as it surrendered to its fate. As it let out its last beat, Rowan felt like his body gave up on him. He stumbled back and fell to the ground. The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes were the treetops which seemed to reach up to the heavens themselves.

Rowan jolted awake. The clock on the wall told him it was midday. This made sense given they had only gone to bed as the sun was rising. Alice was already up, sitting by her vanity and drinking coffee. She looked at him and he could tell that she had been crying. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face slightly puffy.

‘I think we need to end this,’ Her voice broke and Rowan could tell that for a moment there she had wanted to take back what she had started to say, ‘I think I need to let you go.’

He thought he would become agitated, beg her to reconsider, but a kind of serenity had taken over him. There was nothing he wanted to say so he was quiet for a moment, noticing that Alice was waiting for him to speak, so he said the only thing that he felt.

‘Thank you.’