Welcome to Hell.

Chapter One

I walked out of the coffee shop that is located on the first floor of my apartment building. I was just about to light a cigarette (very depressed-poet of me) when my neighbor, Phil from across the hall, bumped into me on his way through the door that I just came out of. I made a grunting noise, lit my cigarette, and began down the sidewalk towards the library.

I blew out smoke into the cold, foggy, January air and questioned why I didn't get up this early more often. It was nice, and a nice excuse to wear my flannels. I look good in flannels, not going to lie. At least I don't look super homeless like I normally do. I don't know what it was about today, but I'm feeling okay, I would even go as far as to call it a good day, and it has only just begun.

I stopped at the mailbox, grabbing the letters I had folded in my pocket, stuffing them into the mailbox, which was much too full for a mailbox, and continuing on my walk.

I made it to the library to find it closed. Go figure, there goes my good day. I put out my cigarette on the stairs leading up to the building as payment for my wasted walk in the cold. I started on my way back to my apartment, kicking a few stoned ahead of me as I went along. A shiver went down my spine as I walked into the coffee shop again. A nice blast of warm air meeting my face, taking my breath away.

I walked up the steps to the second floor of the building, cursing the fact that I was so out of shape, and that this place didn't have a working elevator. It's been broken for months for some god-awful reason that I don't know. All I knew was I hate these fucking stairs.

Then I saw Phil again, practically skipping down the stairs and past me. How he didn't fall was a mystery to me. I have never heard or seen Phil speak to anyone. Given, I don't see him much at all, he's always locked in his apartment doing god-knows-what. Some days I wanted to know what he was doing inside those white walls, but today wasn't one of those days. I continued on up the stairs and down the hall to my apartment.

I pulled out my keys and went to go unlock the door when I saw a post-it note right above the keyhole. I plucked it off the door and squinted at it, confused to what it meant. I kept reading the words, "fatal flaw" over and over again. I looked around me before opening the door and walking in, chuckling to myself. I wonder if it was the girl up on the fourth floor that's always making googly eyes at me, or maybe the man on the third that likes to fuck people. I only know because he lives right above me and I hear his bed squeaking all the freaking time when I'm trying to sleep. Either way, someone had the hots for me, and I couldn't even begin to understand why.

I placed the note on my desk, moving to the fridge to get something to eat. Breakfast isn't my strong suit. I sighed slightly at the fact that I needed to go shopping and I closed the door, picking up an apple from my counter and crunching into it.

Living as a writer might not have been the best choice, but it is what I love to do, so I get by on writing newspaper articles and selling my work to various writing magazines and websites. Sometimes I write just for fun, well, most of the time, actually.

I leaned against my wall, facing my work desk, spotting the note once again. The words were so quickly scrawled on the tiny, pink post-it in silver sharpie. I picked it up again and stuck it to the wall that my desk was against so that it would remind me to figure out who put it there. The handwriting was messy, one that I hadn't seen before. I mean, I haven't seen most people's handwriting. There's seven billion people on this earth and every single person's is different. But I wanted to know whose this one was.

I took another bite of apple and closed my eyes. I was suddenly tired. I'm always tired because of my depression (it wears on me), but this kind of tired was slightly worse. I yawned. I couldn't go back to bed, though, I had work to do for the town newspaper. They wanted an article done on some local author, who just so happened to be my ex-friend PJ. I was still bitter about his book getting published, and I'm still here in this shitty town, going nowhere with my life. Don't get me wrong, I've tried to get mine published multiple times by multiple publishers. I've edited, and re-edited, and changed the whole thing entirely, and it's still not being accepted anywhere. Oh well, I guess, doesn't really surprise me in the least, I'm a pretty shitty writer.

I sat down at my desk, glancing at the note that was driving me insane, placing my apple down and opening my laptop. Once I logged in, I saw that I had two new emails. I clicked on the tab. One from the newspaper reminding me when and where to meet PJ for our interview (2:00, the coffee shop downstairs) and one from "anonymous user". I squinted at the computer. Was this a joke or was I slowly going insane and misreading things. Wouldn't be the first time it's happened.

I clicked on the email. It popped up and the only two words in the email were the ones that are on the post-it note. Okay now I was getting a little confused, okay maybe a lot confused. Who was sending me these messages and why? It was getting a little creepy.

My computer made a binging sound and another email popped up from this anonymous person. "Please meet me downstairs. I'm at the last table against the wall." Okay maybe I am insane, but this could be someone with the potential to like me, or it could be a serial killer, and I was kind of curious as to who they were so I threw my apple in the trash, stood up, closed my laptop and walked out my door, locking it behind me.

I kept thinking of who it might be, I kind of hoped it was the guy from the apartment above me who loves having sex, but that's wishful thinking. It could just be PJ trying to play a trick on me and crushing my life further into the dirt where I once stood, but it could also be someone amazing. Either way, I was about to find out. I folded the post it note in half and stuffed it in my pocket.

I walked through the door of the coffee shop and walked around the side corner, head down. When I looked up I was surprised to see Phil. I walked up to the table, a confused look plastered on my face. I was sure that I looked so stupid, but I was truly in a state of confusion.

"Phil." the man suddenly went stiff, "Okay. I'm so confused."

"You shouldn't be." He chuckled, relaxing slightly, but not all the way, like he was calmed whenever I spoke. My brow furrowed.

"What does that-" my sentence was cut short when I heard a familiar, yet disturbing, voice behind me.

"Hey Philly!" I spun around so quickly that I nearly knocked the coffee that I'm sure he didn't need, out of PJ's hands. Well, the two coffees, I'm assuming that the other one was for Phil, or "Philly" as he just called him.

Phil had this huge grin on his face as he stood. As I watched him close in on PJ's lips, my eyes almost bulged out of my head. Anger began to fill me. Wow. PJ always had to one up me, didn't he?

PJ must have seen the glare in my eyes because his eyes grew devious. This week was going to be absolutely awful.

"So, Dan, aren't you supposed to interview me or something?" My eyes grew meaner. This visit was digging up a lot more in my brain than I ever wanted it to again.

"Did he put you up to this?" My eyes were now on Phil. For a second there he really did look confused.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I believed him, and I was right to.

PJ scoffed, "Come on Dan, lighten up, don't you remember all the fun times we had?" I began to shift between feet, getting really uncomfortable.

"I have to go." I said quickly, running out of the coffee shop and up to my apartment. Once I locked myself in I felt safer, more secure. This is how it was supposed to be. Me, myself, and I all alone in this apartment, no one else to bother me.

The guy that lived above me had his bed squeaking again. I just sat in the corner behind my desk, head in my knees, hands over my ears, just about ready to scream.