Losing My Kinetic Privilege

I jolt awake to a loud bang that shakes the entire building. I lift my arms, which seemed to melt into the mattress just a moment ago. I don't know how long I drifted into that second layer of subconsciousness. How many layers does this world have? I sit up and wriggle my fingers and toes to test my mobility. Something, or someone, is getting impatient.

I hop off the bed and open the entrance door. Greeting me is the hallway, illuminated by moonlight slicing down through the sky window. The rope is twirling, its movement clear in the silver light. It is not being pulled; it is just twisting in a playful pattern. I grab the frayed rope with one hand, leaning my other hand on the small railing to peek underneath. The twirling stops instantly, and I notice a small figure disappearing into the thick shadows of the ground floor.

I straighten the rope, then head to the sink, splashing water onto my face. The breeze from the overhead high window actually feels pleasant against my wet skin. My senses are rapidly coming back—my hands still remember the rough texture of the torn rope, and now the sharp coolness of the water. Sensations make the dream more real. Being real makes me feel more vulnerable. And vulnerability brings the terrifying thrill of being alive.

I curl my hand into a fist and head down the stairs to the first floor, my other hand tracing the peeling yellow wall for guidance, as it is completely dark save for the moonlight spilling from the shaft above. But nothing could have prepared me for the suffocating heatwave that hit my face the second I set foot on that landing.

It is like walking into an oven. The architectural structure of this floor is identical to the second floor, yet infinitely more claustrophobic. The entrance is already open to a dark room, but there are no side windows, and the balcony is sealed shut. The only air it gets is from the sky window up top, and whatever cool breeze existed has already dissipated by the time it reaches this depth.

I step inside the room, wading through a dense crowd of old furniture and clutter scattered across the floor. A heavy curtain hangs right in the middle of the room, blocking the view. I wipe the actual, physical sweat off my forehead, then yank the curtain aside, revealing the identical double doors and windows leading to the balcony. I almost trip over a pile of unrecognizable objects as I head to the glass doors. I push the handle.

To my surprise, they are locked. Same with the windows. I thought I knew this place's topography like the back of my hand. But of course, in the Nyanko kingdom, there are always unmapped terrains.

Even if I can’t open the balcony doors, I can still let some light in. The ever-present glow from the third floor across the street filters through the glass, helping to illuminate the claustrophobic darkness of this room. I can finally make out the clutter scattered across the floor: stacks of old books, overturned chairs, discarded clothes, a medicine box, and a million other miscellaneous things. Behind the torn-off curtain, a bed and a small closet huddle together. It is a suffocating kind of mess, the kind that makes me not want to stay a second longer. But at least now I can navigate my way back out without tripping. I need to get out. I need some air.

Then, the sound of water dripping into a sink hits my ears, accompanied by a low, vibrating hiss. No, more than one. Hisses. I suddenly hate that my senses are hypersensitive now. I actually have to deal with the physical threats of this space.

Heading back out to the entrance door, I see them: two pairs of eyes glowing in the dark hallway. The shadows swallow their frames so completely that not even the moonlight slicing down from the sky window can penetrate them. There is just that soft, wet hiss and the heavy, oppressive shade of their presence blocking the stairs. I need to get past them to get to the ground floor and the well. No way in hell.

I freeze on the spot. I had all that kinetic power earlier—dealing with zombie hordes, outsmarting dinosaurs, dodging alien beams—and now I can't even get past a small, static obstacle. I am getting weaker.

I retreat, backing up the stairs instead. I lean over the railing, looking down the gap between the floors, calculating how I need to swing myself over the banister to bypass the hallway and drop directly onto the lower staircase. Executing it is humiliatingly hard. I can no longer jump or swing through the air with ease. My legs awkwardly cling to the iron stair railing, my palms sweating and slipping as I climb down slowly, inch by agonizing inch. I fiercely miss my weightless agility from the alien invasion event.

I let out a heavy sigh as my feet finally hit the steps of the lower staircase. The beasts are still there in the first-floor hallway above me, watching me descend. It will be a massive hassle to climb back up again.