Walking up the stairs to her apartment, Helena felt the weight of her life resting heavily on her shoulders. Her job consisted of looking after the elderly in a senior home, most days it was all right, most of the seniors treated her with respect but on some days others would give her hell. The bitting, hitting, and etc. were all part of the job that made the days feel like months. She was only putting up with it for another year, then she would have enough money to purse her dreams of becoming a writer. Though everyday she would try to write as much as she could. Just like her job, writing could be hell. Nonetheless her life has been pretty good lately, the seniors this week have been good, she loved to talk to them about their lives or their families. Sometimes they even made her tear up over the stories they told her, of houses by the lake and summer bbq's by the pool or even when their lovers took them by the hand and danced with them under the rain.
"Good morning Mr. Stewart" I said to the old man walking out of 204, his apartment being next to mine, 206.
"Good morning Helena" he said smiling his charming smile, the bags that he carried seemed to be too heavy for him.
"Do you need any help with those, I can see they seem to be a bit too heavy for just one person." I said already reaching out to help him
"No, its all right, I'm taking the elevator, wouldn't want to trouble anyone else with my belongings" he spoke, pulling the bags closer to his side.
"Okay, I'll see you around then Mr. Stewart" I spoke smiling over at him as I reached for my apartment keys in my pocket
"Goodbye then Helena" he said as he gave me one last smile before picking up the garbage bags and headed towards the elevators just down the hall.
Opening the door to my apartment, it felt like I could finally breath. It was only one more year, then I could finally make my dreams of becoming a writer a reality. I placed my bag onto the kitchen counter and decided to fix myself something to eat, though judging by the contents in the refrigerator, the only thing I could make was a simple turkey sandwich. Nice, I had forgotten to buy groceries, again. Life was just a whirlwind that had me spinning mindlessly around and around. Taking the contents out, I started to prepare my lunch, I grabbed a coke and once I was finished I took my food and decided to watch some reality tv. The only thing that made me forget about my life and purely be entertained be someone else's life.
I woke up feeling tired, the clock on the wall read 9:05 pm. Nice one again I had slept the day way, groaning as I sat up, I heard noise coming from beside me. I decided to press my ear against the wall to see if I could hear anything. 204, the wall beside me was connected to Mr. Stewart's apartment. Listening closing it sounded like me was dragging something across the floor, maybe its the fact that I had just woken up but the noise didn't sound like a box or bag. Never mind it, Mr. Stewart was almost 67 years old, so there was nothing to worry about. Not just that but the man had the most warmest smile and kindest heart, deciding to not snoop anymore, I headed straight towards the bathroom to take a shower. I had to be up again by 7am to get to work by 8am. I lived about 10 minutes away from my job but I wasn't at all a morning person so to say I struggled to get out bed was only an understatement. I hated the thought of being woken up at such ungodly hours.
The water was always the perfect temperature, as the honey scented shampoo filled the air, I heard it again, the banging. It was always loud enough for the ear to catch but not loud enough to actually know what it was. I decided to shrug it off again, and hopped out once I finished my shower. Changing into my comfy panda pajama's was always comforting, it brought a sense of relief from by repetitive day to day. I wanted more, no I craved for more in my life, I hated working from 8am til 7am the next day, well I did get a 4 hour break in between, still life was starting to feel draining. Work was hell as always and now life was becoming more and more unenjoyable, at first could cope with it, I loved the pay and meeting all the elderly and hearing their stories but it wasn't enough to satisfy me anymore. Mr. Stewart had once told me that life is what you make it, and an unenjoyable life is a meaningless one, that's why he had took his retirement money and rented the apartment next to mine. It was close to shops and restaurants, he told me that's all he needed to be content with life. He had worked selling his art pieces to various museums and the money he had from it had all gone into a retirement account. Now his life consisted of continuing to dedicate it to his art and the chicken that Jim's sold.
That was living, that was an enjoyable life to me, that's why he inspired me to take up my dreams of becoming a writer making them a reality. My thoughts were once again interrupted by the banging sound, whatever Mr. Stewart was doing was still lingering in my mind, it was almost 11pm and he was still awake. This usually happened once every two weeks, the banging was always different each time. I decided to ignore it again and I walked into my bedroom and laid down onto my bed, my mind was filled to the brim and it was starting to overflow. The water now flooded my room, a waterfall that never seemed to stop and it took me under, it filled my lungs and veins with despair and a heaviness that never seemed to leave. I was drowning once again in my longings and dreams, worries and lifelessnesses, I was drowning with no way of getting back up onto the surface. Suddenly darkness took over and the land of terror that filled my dreams took me with it, dragging me further and further into the dark depths of the water.
-----
I was awoken suddenly by a voice screaming quietly, I quickly got up from my bed and pressed my ear against the wall. The noise sounded faint but there, I didn't know if I was just too sleep deprived or if what I was hearing was real. Deciding to ignore the noise, I once again laid down onto my bed and let sleep take over me once again.