Shining: Darkly

A Story by Abishai100

Adaptation of the Stephen King searing/adapted Kubrick work of visual eeriness about hostel-stay time yielding (incomplete) expressions of 'wrought' metaphysics disarray.

My fanfiction of the adapted masterpiece The Shining (Stephen King). Thanks for reading!

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I want to tell you my story. I wrote it down (in a time-capsule, buried beneath the soil of a backyard of a Homeland-Jersey 'hostel' station where I attempted to write my great American novel about horse-racing). This isn't about racing, however. It's my story inside the hotel where I stayed, to get-away from civilization (incompletely!) and find right comforts and wall-in mentalism securities for 'confidence' consciousness to pen my novel concept about Churchill-Downs. I started going insane, and my Selfie-culture visage became less of a transit-hospitality citizenry 'reading' of incomplete-distances to Earth helmets goals. Follow along!

This was a very-special hostel-station for me, this Homeland-Jersey (chain) hotel, which represented just about any other nice hotel you might want to stay in, if you were seeking private away-time from the 'world-of-languages' and think (secretly!) of the distances to Earth's views for self-consciousness or deeper thoughts of intimating the vanities of others (hmmm). However, while inside this hotel, I started seeing ghosts and hearing voices, in my own room; like while I was in the kitchen, I'd notice lights flickering in the living-room, and vice-versa (pre-sightings/hearings). This was like any other hotel, otherwise.

CONCIERGE: We've no Rationalism-cause to think of rumors of apparitions/undesirables, friend.

ME: You don't believe me, because I sense you sense I'm too sensitive a writer, ok.

CONCIERGE: Why don't you allow us to bring you room-service...to continue our hospitality-IQ?

ME: I'm telling you, I need someone to snoop around, sniff around in my room post-midnight.

CONCIERGE: Sir, this is the Halloween season, and we think you've become too inebriated.

ME: Don't crawl to others then if something happens and you need claim you were shocked!

CONCIERGE: Please take-care of yourself, friend...we're here (merely) to offer our services.
ME: Fine (Selfie-like).

There was nothing I could do to persuade others to see/hear things the way I did inside my Homeland-Jersey hostel-station room. I did hear/see things, right in my room (damn!). No one believed me or believed in me and simply brushed me like a courteous American citizen otherwise too sensitized by ale/Halloween (or something!). However, I wasn't being nasty or calculating or mad with angst. These voices/ghosts insisted I become part of the hotel, after staying in that room that Halloween season, and forsaking my horse-racing novel concept (damn). This was bad photo-synthesis...and it was an event on Earth (good for fiction?).

I left a doodle-drawing of two apparitions I saw in the room, of two little girls singing to me about wild horses (or something). I've left this drawing for others to find, along with this time-capsule retelling. You won't believe me...or in me...or in the truth that I've (now/unofficially) become part of the hostel-station that was to be my writer's cave (wow). I'm half-ghost and half-messenger, and Ieave this art for others to read/discover...for the more nihilistic view that the tale seems fiction (ha).

I won't leave my name in this telling in this time-capsule for you, the reader/audience, of some different time or place, for revelation or 'research' of the human-kind. I've vanished from civilization, and that disbelieving concierge didn't know what to make of it (all); though I left my bill paid (sure). This was my curse, inherited from youth --- the ability to see/hear things too sensitively. The horse-vision I had transformed into a dimension-messenger service-man I've become (wow). This is something like my Selfie-culture 'reading' for all things...leviathan.