THE AFTERHOUR

VIII. The Corridor:

Jamien awoke in a narrow white space. His head was still spinning as if he was still in that vortex, and it was also hammering from everything that had happened. It was almost like years worth of memories had been downloaded back into his brain and he was suffering from information overload. He shook his head, hoping it'd get the dizziness out of his system, but it just got worse, like his brain was rattling inside. He felt awful, but on the other hand, Jamien was whole again. He tried and trace his memories back to the very beginning:

He was born in the year 1970 to Robert and May Dormer. He spent most of his life in his hometown, a poor village on the other side of the country until he decided to move to the big city with his engineering degree in the hopes of building a better life. But as far as he remembered, he had been a waiter at the Vineyard Restaurant for years now. He had a girlfriend as well, Marleen. Oh god! She must be worried sick! - He thought to himself. He had been trapped here for too long now, ever since he...Hmm...Damn it! - He thought - He still had no clues about how he got here, and most importantly, how to get out. That stupid gem held out on him, it would seem. Having his memories back had made this place seem even crazier than it was before.

He was completely dry, so either that he had been out of consciousness for a while, or it was some sort of weird magic this place was conjuring up. Both were equally feasible. He sat up with a groan, half expecting this place to be another white empty space, but this time, it was different.

He was standing in a white corridor that stretched as far as the eye could see. It was narrow, only about one and a half meters in width. The strangest thing was the plain blue doors: There were doors after doors on either side of the corridor, too many to count. Each one had a little shiny metal plate attached to it, in fancy letters. Jamien tried to read them, but he was further confused. All the plates were different, and they all had dates carved on them in tiny letters. The signs read: "5th Birthday - 20/05/1975", "Math Class - 10/12/1982", "Trip To The Beach - 27/10/1981",etc... They were events! Events in his life to be exact. But why are there doors?

Jamien stood there, staring at the doors. It was the same as usual, even though there were countless doors here, he still only had one way forward: Opening the doors. He walked along the corridor, new doors and new signs were popping up, but there was no end to the corridor, it just kept going. Something caught his attention, and he stopped dead in his tracks. It was a door, same as any other, but the sign read: "Mom's Bedtime Story - 21/01/1981".

He must have lingered at the door forever, staring at those words. He remembered that night very clearly because it was almost the same as many other nights. Mom came to his room to read him his favorite book. Jamien had no idea how this worked, but he felt a strong desire to visit that night. He cautiously put his hand on the round handle and twisted it. The door opened with a small creaky sound.

It was so accurate, down to every single detail, all the ones he remembered, and the ones he thought he had forgotten. Before him was his childhood bedroom, dimly lit by the small lamp on the nightstand, it was late. The room could have been considered even small for a child, with only a few things in it. There was his wardrobe, full of hand-me-downs and old clothes, some almost as old as him. The small windows by his single bed overlooked the family farm. Young Jamien used to be scared of the dark vast space outside his windows, so his mom would have to leave the light on and close the blinds. But on that night, the moon was so bright and majestic, he didn't feel the need to. Lying in bed was his small and skinny younger self, in his pajamas. And sitting next to him was Mom. His heart lost a beat. She was wearing a flowery sundress, a strange thing to be wearing at this time of day, but she always found them to be comfortable. She was reading Little Jamien his favorite story, " Tiff The Mouse".