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Welcome to Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino's virtual reality tour. Please pull on your complimentary headsets now to get yourself immersed in your free visit. We have the most luxurious things that will be provided to you in your once in a lifetime stay. This stay will be all inclusive which gives you access to; the casino, the quad, the hot tubs and pools, and much more when you come to stay with us.
We have a four-star out of five rating, and that is unheard of for this type of hotel. You will get the star treatment, and make the most amazing and fantastical memories. Reservations will be opening tomorrow, July 30th at 10 am sharp, and it is on a first come first serve basis so be ready with all your personal information. Flights and accommodations will be included as well. Thank you and good luck.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
July thirtieth. This was the day I had been waiting for since the last time they opened the phone lines, which was last year. My eyes were glued to my digital alarm clock, and my cell phone was in my hand with the phone number already typed in. I had tried to get a spot for three years in a row, only this time I was in the back of my friend's van, swinging back and forth like a madman. The radio station that I was listening to was keeping a countdown to ten since this was such a worldwide event. From outside the foggy van window, I could see people coagulating around the televisions, with their phones out in front of them just like me. They were my temporary competition, and chances are at least one of them would win today, and I would have to watch them celebrate their success.
It's not like I had a problem with someone else winning, it would just make me not want to do this again, mostly because of the sheer disappointment that I would go through for about a week. This mixed with the bitterness of my family life never made this a pleasurable experience. That's why I'm in the back of the lucky "Riot Van"; coined by my all too optimistic friend Luanna. She said that the luck was what I had been missing this whole time, that's why I hadn't won, according to her of course.
So here I am, staring directly at the digital alarm clock noticing that there are only five more minutes left before the ultimate chaos begins. I reached over and tapped over the pockets of my army jacket, retrieving my lighter and cigarettes. My hand grazed over the matte black pack of Marlboro Midnights, as the sweet, bitter scent called out to me, while it mixed with the musky environment of the Riot Van.
Luanna's Riot Van had been in her family for years and had been passed down to her by her mother, who purchased the Ford Econoline when she was twenty to get away from her parents. In our teens years, right when we got our licenses, we decided to take it for a spin; from that point on we had given it the occupation of being the party bus since it was able to fit so many people in the back without it being a complete safety hazard. When we hit nineteen, and we were known as the misfits of our town, Luanna decided to give the party bus a spruce up. She took it to a shady decal shop located in an underground garage right off the beaten path, and for only a small payment of one hundred and fifty pounds, she revamped the van from the wheels up. The interior where most of us would sit, turned into a lounge area; we could still sit in the back comfortably, only now it was like we were sitting in the living room of a house. On the outside, the rusty grey color was covered by matte black paint, which would be contrasted by dark red decal that would resemble the claw marks of some ravenous bird. After everything was installed, Luanna decided to live out of it, and that's when she added onto the van with some cheap spray paint so that she could claim it as "Luanna's Riot Van."
I didn't move in with her, but when my dad wasn't making me feel like I was his daughter or even a member of the household, I would stay with her, which is why I am here now, sitting on her mattress waiting for the clock to strike ten.
I opened up my pack, putting one of the Marlboro's between my chapped lips, I pushed my dirty blonde hair back, before breathing in and striking one of the matches to light the end of the cigarette. The scent of the voluminous tobacco filled my senses instantly, and the smooth body of the smoke enveloped my lungs, while my hand reached over to the small table behind the bed so I could retrieve one of the many empty ashtrays, which were scattered around the van. I placed the heavy, grey stained glass beside me, hugging my knees to my chest, as a light breeze trailed up my bare pale legs. The screen of my cell phone lit up, giving me my one-minute warning. Instantly I crawled over to the driver's seat, with my cigarette between my lips, the ashtray in my left hand, and phone in the other. I put the tray down in the cup holder and turned the volume of the radio up, before sitting back and draping myself in Luanna's thin blanket that she would put on her seat since the leather was pretty cold in the mornings.
I had caught the end of You Only Live Once by The Strokes, leaning closer to the speaker when the radio host cleared his throat lightly.
"Hello and Good morning for the folks who just woke up. There are only thirty seconds left until reservations for The Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino open up, so get those phones ready." He warned. I clung to the silky blanket, letting my nails dig into the fabric.
"Maybe you'll get that once in a lifetime chance to meet the owner." His sidekick adds "And if you do...Make sure to take a picture." She jokes.
"Ten more seconds folks." I hunched over my phone, putting the cigarette between my lips, letting them act as a holder. My thumb hovered over the call button which was a brilliant green. Please God if there is a way to show me you exist now would be the time to give me some proof. You'll gain a follower for Christ Sake!
"And the-" It was like my hearing tuned out, and I lost consciousness and control of my body, feeling my thumb pressing down on the call button, without a thought I put it against my ear, almost causing it to slip out of my hand because of the rushed movement. There was a hard thumping in my chest and my head, combining with my palms which felt wet and clammy like I ran them under a tap. I instinctively wiped them on the paper thin fabric of the blanket, pressing my ear even harder into the speaker.
On the other end of the line, it was total silence, only the sound of clicking being fully audible. Each time a click was heard, my stomach did a belly flop, and a wave of sickness fell upon me as if all the acid in my gut was going to burn through my intestines and leave me with this big dark void. To say I was nervous would be the understatement of the century; nervousness comes from stress, and anxiety, this is coming from the knowledge of my prior losses that I have gone through the past three times that I tried to get reservations at this place, and it was the worriedness of chalking another loss under my belt. I should be used to it since I have been labelled the 'generic loser' of the family.
Let's be honest here, I don't have an optimistic outlook on life, and it's no secret that my father is the sole cause of it. It was like when I was born his pessimism was passed down to me through genetics. I wasn't always this miserable though, which makes me doubt my theory of the hopelessness being hereditary. Once I hit the ripening age; between thirteen and sixteen, my dad began to give me input on my life. I didn't have a problem with him doing this. Not for a while at least. One day though, I began to feel like an outsider in my own family. I was in the shadow of my older sister, who got into a great university and survived the mental beating that my dad would give to her because she was passive, and that would be the thing that would set me apart from her. No matter how many times I fought back, he would just come at me, wrap around my legs like an anvil and bring me underwater to drown me in his constant ridicule. Briefly, I would sink, but then my mother would throw herself in, and act like my life jacket, bringing me just above the surface so I could breathe...Then she was gone, and that only made my dad's attitude and hereditary pessimism wrap around me even more, until it swallowed me whole.
I took a deep drag from the cigarette, suddenly hearing a very loud click echoing through the phone line. I flinched, and soon after my entire body tensed up, a massive inhale greeting my eardrums.
"Good morning, Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino, Tina speaking, how may I direct your call?" My jaw dropped open as I struggled to gather all my thoughts. It was like I was having a stroke if I was having a stroke though at least I would die a winner, I was still able to move my arm, and I wasn't able to smell any burnt toast, so that was a faint sign that I wasn't suffering from anything death related.
"I'm going to assume you're looking for a reservation. I'm going to direct you there if that's okay with you?" I let out a little squeal in response, realizing that I was in a state of shock, or vocal paralysis, "I'll take that as a yes." She murmured, then the phone began to ring, and it kept ringing for several minutes. In that time I had finished the one cigarette I had and lit up another one for good measure. I formed my lips around the Marlboro, taking a long drag of nicotine, only to be interrupted by the familiar click, which caused me to blow all the smoke that I had collected in my mouth.
"Hello, reservations, Rebecca speaking, how can I help you?" Her voice made her seem young and vibrant, but I could picture her being in her mid-forties for some reason. Maybe it was her motherly, adult-like tone that was throwing me off. I cleared my throat, resting the cigarette on the lip of the ashtray.
"Um...I want to book a reservation for two if that's okay?" I murmur, hoping that she managed to hear me.
It's not like I haven't booked a hotel room before, I have, but it's the circumstances of booking that is catching me off guard. It's confusing too. They choose the duration of the stay, and they decide how many people you can bring. I mean you can suggest how many people you want to drag along with you, but they have the right to say no. At least the stay would be worth waiting for, or at least I hope it will be worth the wait...God Forbid it's not.
"You will need a payment of three hundred and fifty pounds, that would be the only thing that will be getting charged to your account. This payment includes the all-inclusive stay at Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino, and the flight as well, for both you and your friend." She explained all the information so simply that it seemed like she was reading off a script, which she probably was now that I'm thinking about it. "Is everything clear, or would you like me to repeat all that information?" I picked the cigarette back up, taking a quick puff to get a quick fix before replying to Rebecca in a soft tone.
"Everything is clear to me...How do I pay and how lo-"
"Your stay will be determined once you arrive at the hotel. You will pay once you are here. I will need your address so I can mail you your tickets for the flight. If you don't have a set address, provide us with the address of your nearest postal service, please and thank you." Definitely reading off a script. I scratched the corner of my mouth, pondering the address of the post office down the street.
"Market Square, WELSHPOOL, Powys, SY21 ORJ." I tapped the ashes off into the tray, as I shook my leg to keep myself moving, since I'm always restless, and currently nervous.
"Ah! I knew I could recognize that accent of yours, a good old Wales girl." I couldn't help but crack a smile at the compliment, taking another minute drag. I puffed the smoke out, hearing the door slide open, causing me to wave my hand around like a madman so I could clear the smoke out of my field of vision, only to see Luanna holding a bag of groceries in her hand. Her dark red hair was put up in a messy bun, and she was wearing a tight, white camisole and dark grey jogging bottoms.
"Is that all the information you need?" Luanna's dark green eyes studied me as she whisper-mouths to me, asking me who I'm on the phone with as she loads her mini fridge with her purchased groceries, and I held up my finger giving her the one-minute signal.
"Yes that is all, we already have your phone number, so you're all set. Have a wonderful day, and we look forward to seeing you very soon." And with that, she hung up.
"Who was that Vi?" Luanna asked, taking my cigarette out from my hands, claiming the passenger seat. I watched her as she took a deep drag, letting out a loud and dry cough.
"Jesus Christ these are killers...I don't know how the fuck you smoke them." I rolled my eyes, as I ran my hand through my tangled, dirty blonde hair, while I took my cigarette back from her.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you..."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
"You're fucking with me. Tell me you're fucking with me." I shook my head, staring at her with wide eyes, trying to contain my overwhelming excitement. She looked ahead at the busy road and then focused her attention on her fresh pack of Newport Platinum's.
"Did they tell you how long you would be staying?" She asked, sitting back in her seat as she took out her gunmetal grey lighter. I shrugged and shook my head.
"Apparently once we arrive they'll tell us." She glanced over at me out of the corner of her eye, with one eyebrow raised. She pulled the unlit cigarette away from her lips.
"Us?" She replied, sounding confused. I frowned, a flash of disappointment in my eyes.
"You don't want to come? Come on Lu...Who else am I going to take?" She lit her cigarette and threw the lighter into the cup holder. The long drag that was taken indicated that she was trying to think about her response and make a decision, which was one of Luanna's dead giveaways. Her eyes widened.
"What about your dad?" I scoffed at her suggestion and shuddered all at the same time. The thought of it was the figment of my nightmares, an unknown period of time spent with my dad would be the ultimate form of solitary confinement.
"Are you crazy Luanna? Shall I call the mental hospital and check you in?" Her eyes trailed up to mine, with a glimmer of seriousness in the blackness of her pupils.
"You and your father have such a lousy relationship Vi...Maybe this will bring both of you together."
"Yeah, sure, and what the hell happens when we get there, and he starts to cause trouble like he always does?" She shrugged, looking around for her keys.
"If this trip makes you happy then I don't think he'll try to ruin it for you Vi." She found her keys in the cup holder, putting it into the ignition.
"Lu...That will be why he ruins the trip for me! Don't you see that he wants me to be eternally miserable?" She put one leg over the other, pressing her foot down on the gas pedal, as the car began to move forward.
"You're just like your father. You guys all think people are here to make your life miserable. This trip can help rekindle your relationship, yet it seems like you don't want that." This is when Luanna tries to guilt me into saying yes, and agreeing with her, even though my dad and I never truly had a well-functioning father-daughter relationship.
"Luanna, I'm not stupid. I know what you're trying to do, you're not fooling me with your mind games." She defensively raised her hands
"I'm just saying V. Think about the similarities between you and your father; you both think the world is against you, even though it isn't. You have this unnatural pessimism towards life and last, but not least, you guys haven't had a well-functioning relationship with another person." My stomach nearly dropped, hearing her mentioning a "well-functioning relationship."
It wasn't like I was some sort of hermit that didn't want a relationship, it was the sheer fact that I would have to sacrifice my own feelings and risk getting my heart broken. It is also the thought of the person leaving like my mother did. Seeing the reaction my father had was something I did not want to go through myself even though I went through my own internal suffering when my mom left. I never complained about not having a relationship though, I was personally content with it, but on the rare occasion, I did have second thoughts about being a relationship with someone.
"If he says he doesn't want to come, then I'll help you out and find someone; just try at least, it's for your own good, even if you may not see it yet." I turned my head and glanced out the foggy, tinted window, and my mind fought with itself for a brief time, until I gave into her proposal.
"Fine. I'll do it." I sounded like a child who finally gave in to doing chores or not getting candy at the checkout.
"Thank God. Now I need to go to work, so I'm gonna drop you off." She informed, as pedestrians moved by the window, holding their umbrellas above their heads to shield themselves from the fat raindrops that began to fall from the murky grey sky. Luanna turned down my street and passed by the several townhouses that looked all the same; brown bricks, red shingles, with matching red doors that had white borders. It was as if we lived in a rendition of George Orwell's 1984 or Bryan Forbes The Stepford Wives. Everything looked the same, and everyone had very similar lives, two kids in each family, a mother- who usually stays at home to hold the house down- and a father who is the breadwinner of the family, who makes money so the mother can spend it on the children. Sometimes I even got confused with who was who because they lived the same lives; except for my 'family'. I have an older sister, but she is out of the house, so I'm the only child in the household, with one parent who works until his fingers fall off, and who is entirely dissociated from his own daughter. He isn't a family oriented person like all the fathers on the street are or like how my mother was. He is able to keep himself stable even though we are a one income household, and since they see his daughter rebelling against him, they assume I am trying to make a statement that 'I don't care about my dad he's just my own personal wallet.'
"Well, I bid you good luck," Luanna exclaimed, snapping me out of my train of thought. I unbuckled my seat belt and took in a deep breath, letting the heated air caress my throat.
"I'll call you tonight." And with that, I was up and out of the can, rushing to get inside the house so I wouldn't be dripping wet when I had gotten in. Immediately my senses tuned into the atmosphere around me. The smell of burnt coffee beans and the sickly sweet scent of syrup running throughout the house like my dad had decided to fumigate the house with the sticky condiment. I dropped my bag onto one of the hooks and hung my keys in front of it; making sure my shoes were on the carpet before making my way towards the kitchen. Moving through the minimalist living room which only contained a small television, a two-person love seat, an awfully patterned carpet that had a deadly mixture of blues and greens, and a large bookshelf that was overfilled with modern philosophy texts, and parenting books, which was a complete rip off seeing that, my father never followed anything in it.
There was a smooth transition into the dining room where an unorganized oak table set with four chairs residing on the sides, a forgotten and sound memory of the times my mother and sister were around. I think it was a psychological thing for my dad, it was a significant sign that he couldn't let go, but it was also an expression that he is holding hope that they would return.
Blueprints and measurements laid on the top of the oak wood, a small draft that would become a building layed on the paper, layers of graphite stacked on top of each other, some lines were light, and some were pressed into the pages with great force and accuracy, making permanent marks that would turn into pillars of buildings someday. I didn't bother looking any further than the surface, and moved on, making my way towards the kitchen which was separated by a swinging door. From behind the barrier, I could hear the soothing tenor voice of Luciano Pavarotti singing Nessun Dorma, my dads all time favorite artist and song. Before pushing the door open, I took in a deep breath, automatically getting hit with the strong scent of scotch. I knew it. I pushed through and entered the kitchen seeing my father washing the dishes in the sink with his back turned away from me. I cleared my throat on purpose, causing him to turn around.
My father's features were distinct, and I didn't have any of them. I resembled my mother more than anything, the only thing that I got from my dad was his eyes. They were large and sunken in, but they were complemented by hazel pupils, which had small specks of blue and off greens, he was growing out a beard, and to say that it looked good would be a lie. His wire-framed glasses hung off the bridge of his nose, digging into his olive coloured skin, which was glistening in a mixture of sweat and oil. It had probably been a stressful night for him, judging by the fact that it looked like he hadn't gotten any sleep, as well as the smell of the alcohol that he would only drink if he was stressed out, or when there was a major deadline coming up at work.
"Hey, Violet." His voice sounded distasteful to my ears, and it was dripping with annoyance. I gave him a small nod, acknowledging his forced, overly loud greeting. "So you've decided to come home today, what do you need? Money?" I shook my head.
"Just wanted to come back home, am I not able to do that anymore?" He grabbed a dishcloth and began drying his chapped hands.
"I'm allowed to assume Violet. You only come here when you need something." I scoffed, crossing my arms in front of me.
"If you were here more often maybe you would realize that I'm always here, I also have a job, so I don't need your money." He moved around the kitchen and pulled the fridge open like he had ignored my explaination.
"Then what do you want?"
My father was a man of many words, but no thoughts. He assumes that everyone wants something from him and that's why he has no friends or a girlfriend. I don't even know how my mother survived being with him for so long, I would've dropped everything and left way before anything serious happened, like marriage. Sometimes I wonder what goes on in his mind, and I wonder why he is the way he is, but I know that I will never get any answers from him on that topic.
I grabbed the pot of coffee that sat in the machine on the counter and poured it into one of the mugs that surrounded the area.
"You know how every year the Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino opens up and they let the public book rooms?" I took a sip of the lukewarm coffee, keeping my eyes on him to see his face contort into a severe frown, possibly remembering the past couple of years that I had wasted calling in and losing. My father didn't like losers, even though he was a loser himself. "You have been obsessed with that stupid hotel for years Violetine, when will you give up on this stupid little fantasy that yo-"
"I got in," I interjected, causing him to stop pre-lecture right before he went on a tangent about how losers only want to bring winners down and I'm a loser, and so on, and so forth. I could see all that seriousness got replaced with sudden shock. His mouth hanging open, as his eyes stayed on my face, but it was as if he wasn't actually looking at me. I had won this round, and he knew it, but I know he would let it happen that easily.
"And where are you going to get all this money; for travelling and all the other expenses?" I sighed.
"Guess you didn't hear me when I mentioned that I have a job and that I've been making money for the past six months. I have enough to cover the cost." I said, in a matter of fact tone, he glanced away from me.
"Then you came here to gloat about your happiness, which is severely disrespectful on your end." I let out a shot of laughter, taking another sip from the baby blue mug. I wouldn't be gloating if he would just let me finish my explanation. The bitter taste of coffee kicked in, my face scrunching up in a distasteful manner. I decided to place the cup down, giving up on the bitter liquid.
"I came here to tell you that you're coming with me." He stopped dead in his tracks and turned on his heel to face me. Even though on the inside it killed me to say that aloud, I had hope that he would say no, especially after all this attitude that I have given him for the past couple of minutes. Please say no
"You want to bring me?" He questioned, leaning on the counter behind him, I crossed my fingers behind my back and kept quiet, knowing that it was a rhetorical question.
"And how do you expect me to go to work?" We are a one income household, how will I be able to pay our bills?" Oh thank God, he's got an excuse!. I shrugged.
"I don't know, but if you don't want to come that's fine, I'll just ask Luanna." I guess I showed a little too much excitement in my voice, because my father paused, giving me a weird, unrecognizable look. He squinted at me.
"Actually, I have quite a few sick days that I haven't used, and I haven't taken a vacation in so long, so the company does owe me..." Mother fucker
"Oh, that's great." I was disappointed, very disappointed, but I didn't want to show it. Maybe my father is doing this out of spite because he heard that happiness in my voice, he likes sticking it to me, and ruining things for me. Two can play that game, he's won this round.
"I'll be up in my room," I announced, picking up the mug of bitter coffee, realizing that I can't live without the caffeine fix.
"As usual." He muttered under his breath, while I walked by him, and ignored his utterance.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
I inherited my sister's room when she moved out, it had more space than my other room and at the time I was in high school finishing up my last year, so I needed all the space I could get since I was always focusing on my studies and my art as well. My original room was initially for storage, but when my mom unexpectedly fell pregnant with me, my parents took all their wedding gifts, which had collected dust in the result of not using any of them, out of the room, and replaced the dark and dingy space with a deep purple nursery. My parents hadn't agreed on the colour, according to them they didn't want to know what they were having, which left them to decide on a neutral colour, and as you can tell...Purple isn't really neutral. My mom said to me that she had a sixth sense of what she was having, she said that after my sister, Phoenix, was born she could remember the movements and the heaviness of her stomach, which triggered her quick assumptions. She believed that I was going to be exactly like my sister, she had even gotten a tarot card reading when she was carrying me, she believed in astrology but only when she wanted to, and they said that she would be a proud mother of two successful girls, one more successful than the last. Of course...I wasn't more successful than Phoenix. I could never be because she was "the golden child," even after my mother left my sister would obey my father's wishes and rules like he was Jesus Christ and she was one of his disciples. She did this only to ask him if he could cover her rent a week after she told him that she was moving away to Liverpool. For me, I had created a form of resentment towards her, not because my dad expected the same attitude from me, but because her attitude was as fake as a food display at a furniture store. She used our father for money, and he didn't even care, she could bleed him dry, and he wouldn't even flinch. I just don't see how she could get away with what she does...I wish I could learn her secret.I took my room key out of my pocket and unlocked the door, glancing around like a spy, as if someone was watching, before stepping into my poster-filled, floorless bedroom. Clothes laid on the dark hardwood, a streamline of colourless cloth led to my average sized closet. The Clash's tour poster hung on my far right wall and stood out from all the other posters of mine, mostly because it was a guy mid-guitar smash, which was a very classic cover, and admirable in my eyes. The Sex Pistols poster laid on the wall beside it in blinding yellow bubble letters, as if a child had written it. I admired all types of music but rock and punk were the most predominant types that stood out to me. It was an auditory experience that no other kind of music could create, and it would give me chills every time it entered my atmosphere. My record player sat on a stool beside my shelf of vinyls with a record that was shimmering in the gloomy weather that peeked through my curtains. Sonic Youth's "Daydream Nation," called out to me as I lifted the needle, placing it down on the edge of the record, picking my headphones up, slipping them over my ears. The soft strumming of a guitar flowing on the airwaves. I backed away from the record player, pacing towards my desk, looking at the piles of drawings that I had sketched. Mysterious monsters graced the first page, and then a picture of a freckle-faced man with a look of disgust greeting me, smudges surrounding the graphite, something that I didn't particularly enjoy seeing on a sketch I had taken time on. I gathered the free sheets of paper, making all of them line up with each other before placing the pile into my 40x40 portfolio.I had intended to sign up for an art school, but I didn't have the total funds to do so. I felt like I wanted to be independent and pay for my own schooling, but only getting two months to accumulate all the money that I would need just didn't work out for me. Ever since I made that decision, I kept every single piece of art I did, even the ones that were on napkins and wrappers, so I would be prepared if I ever got the chance to get all that money together, and still be finically stable to apply for an art school of my choice.I moved the headphone wire out of my way as I dragged my portfolio across the floor, leaning it against the left side of my closet wall, hiding it behind my pile of clothes. The music rang through my ears as I returned to my desk, opening the top drawer, looking at the brochure that had been sent to the house three years ago, advertising The Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino. The paper was thick, coloured a matte black with accents of yellowish orange, the thin white lettering gleaming out of the harsh darkness of the background. I slowly opened the brochure up, seeing a miniature pop-up that was purely made out of paper, depicting the image of the hotel. I wonder where this place is, and I wonder why nobody has ever spoken about its location before.Whenever people would win a reservation, you would never hear any details from them. Someone down the street won a three-week stay, and when she came back, she dodged every question people would ask about the hotel or the activities that took place at the hotel. She could go on and on for hours when it came to the plane ride though, that's for sure. These things made me even more intrigued with the hotel, why was everyone so secretive about every little tidbit of information that they had? Why was there so much mystery revolving around the owner and why was nobody willing to give answers, if they even got any themselves. I let out a small sigh, closing the advertisement, placing it back in the drawer, laying it gently upon the loose papers of theories and scrap pictures that had been in the newspapers. I closed the drawer, sliding open my blackout curtains, letting the gloomy sky shine into the room, giving me some sort of connection with the outside world.I lifted my easel, setting it up quickly, positioning it in the light so I would be able to see what I was doing before preparing all my paints and grabbing my dirty water jar, filling it up with water from the bathroom sink. I dipped my brush into the foggy water, letting it soak into the bristles, then hovering the frayed tip over the dry paint, a few water droplets adhering to the dry paint, as I gave it a small and quick swipe, reactivating the dull colours one by one. Once I was finished, I felt like my mind had gone blank, mistaking my explosion of creativity for something unknown to me. I dropped the brush to the side, placing my pain holder beside it, as frustration crowded my mind. An artist with no muse or inspiration is an artist with a creativity block. I decided to take a nap after further deliberation of whether or not I should attempt at a painting, even though I knew that it would end up ruining a perfect piece of canvas, leaving my thoughts to rest.A few days later, I came home from work to find a package at my doorstep addressed to me. The box had the familiar colours that represented The Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino, which instantly caused me to pick it up and throw myself into the house with it. I was glad my father wasn't home to hear me yell like some sort of mad woman, as I cut open the box gently with an exact-o knife, taking out the styrofoam peanuts, revealing the contents of the box. A pile of papers sat in front of me, with big bold lettering labelling it as a Contract. My eyes skimmed over it, confused about the package that was in front of me. Beside the papers, hidden beneath some of the styrofoam, was a black matte envelope, with a golden seal holding it closed, it was similar to a fancy letter you would get from the government, or from someone that had a specialty seal press. I slowly slipped my finger between the paper, pushing it open gently, making sure not to rip or damage anything, as I pulled out the thick glossy note, which was written in a smooth gold colour.Dear Violet Hale,
First and foremost, I would like to bid both you and your friend congratulations on successfully getting a reservation at The Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino. I know it is very tough to get one, so that is needed. The package that you have received today must be signed and given to the front desk when you arrive at the hotel. It is not optional, and it must be read carefully to ensure you know what you are signing off on. This package must also be signed by the person you are bringing along with you as well. Your plane tickets are beneath those packages, with the payment envelope as well. Make sure you bring everything to the hotel and make sure not to lose anything. Otherwise, we will not be able to let you into the place. I wish you the safest travels, and I hope to see you soon.
Sincerely, Mr. A.D.T
The man's writing was engraved deep into the textured paper, shimmering in the faint light coming from the grey sky. My eyes trailed towards the box, instantly pulling the two packages out, flipping the top one open, leaving the other one to my dad's discretion. The thought of how "Mr. A.D.T" knew my name also made me concerned as well as confused. Maybe this was a setup like Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory, and they obviously knew who I was even before I called in. It seems like a decent theory, seeing as though I've called in several times before this event they must have my number on their records right? Or maybe I'm just overthinking and I did give them my name and its slipped my mind.Within the package, there were several guidelines and rules that definitely had to be read through carefully, noticing that a few of them began to give a perspective on why nobody has found out anything about the hotel, and why there was minimum information on the subject as well. No photos will be allowed to be taken in or outside of the hotel. Upon arrival, your bags will be checked for anything that might be deemed "against our policy." What the hell does "our policy" mean, what have I gotten myself into? There were several pages chalked full of information about what you can and can't do at the hotel, some rules were more basic, but others had a vast complexity behind them. Whatever we would see, we would not be able to give or share the details to anyone outside of the place. Like it would destroy the mystery of the hotel itself, at least that's what I thought it would be. Once I got to the last page, I quickly scrawled out my signature onto the paper in a dark blue ink, staring at the squiggly line for a few moments, realizing that it was official. I took time to observe the plane tickets, noticing that there was no location printed on them, just seat numbers, the specific airlines that we would have to fly through to get to the unknown area, and the time that we were supposed to be there at, ten o'clock at night. This entire thing must've taken a lot of planning and dedication by someone who is desperate to keep secrets. Sounds exciting and mysterious, what a great combination.My corded phone began to ring, pulling my attention to it, as I placed the plane tickets down onto my desk, knowing exactly who was calling. I lifted the speaker up to my ear."Lu! Where the hell have you been!?" I exclaimed, throwing myself down on the twin sized bed, looking up at my painted ceiling, the mix of purples and blues clouding my vision — a small sigh echoing through my ears."I've got work you goof, I've been getting swarmed with paperwork, sorry I haven't been able to call, I know how much you've missed me." She says in a joking manner, "How did it go with your dad?" I could imagine her in the same position as I, laying on her bed, staring up at the heavily decorated ceiling of her Riot Van, waiting for my answer. My arm slipped behind the back of my neck, elevating it upwards."Well, he said yes, a very reluctant yes though, it was like pulling teeth Lu." A light laughter shuffled through the airways, "I got a package today with two contracts that my dad and I have to sign before we are allowed into the hotel...That'll definitely put him off from coming with me." I mentioned, mumbling the last part in a bit of excitement and hope."Contracts? Who the hell does the owner think they are?" I shrugged, smirking in amusement at the sound of Luanna's curious tone."Somebody that has something to hide. There's a bunch of rules too; no pictures are allowed to be taken, and they are going to do bag searches and will take anything that they think would go against their policy...Its a pretty hefty contract if we're being honest." I glanced over at the desk, staring at the box."Sounds suspicious. I hope you read all the rule though and didn't skim over it as you do with literally everything." I opened my mouth, a fake hurt expression dancing upon my face."I don't skim!" I stated."Oh really? What about my manuscript for playwriting class? Remember that?" My eyes widened."Point made...I read this one really carefully. I don't want to get there and get immediately sent home because I didn't follow one of the rules. You know how much this means to me." A small laugh echoed from her end, as I turned over onto my side, fixing the phone cord, so it laid across my ribs. I could hear the door of her van slide open, a slew of different voices interrupting our conversation."Vi, sorry but I gotta run, I hope we can talk to each other before you leave though, I'll make sure to visit." There was more talking, which was only getting louder in the background, a distinct one standing out from all the others. She hushed them."I leave next week, so you've got time." The voices raised, until Luanna snapped, telling them to shut up."Coolio, I'll definitely come over then. Good luck getting your dad to sign that contract." I let out a small grunt. I'll have to play twenty questions with him because of this stupid thing. The hotel better be worth all these lectures I've been receiving from my dad or else I'll be severely disappointed."Thanks, Lu, I'll need all the luck I can get. Love you." I could hear a few people yelling in the background, knowing how rowdy Luanna's other friends can be."Love you too hun." She replied happily, hanging up soon after. I sat up, unwrapping myself from the phone cord, tiptoeing over to the hook, dropping the receiver down onto it. From below me, I could hear the front door unlock, a signal that my dad had arrived home. For a few moments I contemplated not bringing the contract down, but something just made me grab the booklet off my desk and walk out of my room. I didn't want to have him go all the way to God knows where, only to get kicked out, also I didn't want Luanna getting mad at me because I sabotaged the trip, so I might as well have the game of twenty-one questions, as opposed to Luanna being mad at me. I skipped a few steps down towards the main level, watching my dad opening up a fresh bottle of wine, the liquid making a 'glug' noise as he poured the dark red drink into a fancy glass. He shoved the cork back into the neck of the bottle after ripping it off the sharp corkscrew, a small, familiar groan of frustration flying from him, before taking a quick sip of the dark red liquid, which stained his dry lips briefly.I am not much of a drinker myself, alcohol makes people make stupid decisions and I never really felt like making stupid decisions...Ever. Once in a while, I would share a half a beer with Lu, but rarely would I surpass that amount of alcohol. My decision wasn't just based on that though. The downward spiral that my dad would fall into was the most significant factor that played into staying away from the bottle or at least monitoring my intake.I cleared my throat on purpose, grabbing his attention, he held the wine glass between his pointer and middle finger, as if he was at some sort of fancy get together for the Queen or something. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for me to say something. I glanced down at the contract and held it into his line of sight."Got this in the mail today, you need to sign it before we get to the hotel." I explained, noticing him shake his head in confusion. He placed the wine glass down on the table, taking the package out of my hands, a look of shock wiping out the confusion that was on his face moments prior due to the weight of the papers in question."Why does this place have so many rules? Who do these people think they are?" He sounded displeased as he walked himself back to the table, placing the contract down on the table, retrieving his thin wired reading glasses from his work bag, taking a seat soon after doing so. I bit my lip, observing him flip open the package to the first page, while he grasped his wine glass in his other hand. My eyes glanced over at the clock for a moment, noticing that he was taking his time in reading every single word carefully. I twiddled my thumbs, moving from one leg to the other in nervousness, the floor creaking as I did so. He raised the rim of the glass to his lips, taking a larger gulp than the last one, the dark purple colour now seeping into the cracks on his lips. His attention turned to me, one eyebrow raised in a concerned, and judging look plastered on his face."Are you really sure you want to go here? I mean...Did you read what I am reading right now?" He motioned to the bright paper."I did, it sounds reasonable." He let out a small, barely audible laugh."It sounds like the owner is a complete psychopath." He retorted, flipping to the next page. He kept his comments to a minimum, and his drinking to the max, by the time he was done reading the entire package he was on his fourth glass, and he didn't seem like he would be stopping any time soon."Are you really sure you want to go to this place? Do you even know where it is?" To my surprise his speech was not slurred, it was as if he hadn't been drinking at all, which was not normal for him."It's in...L.A." I lied, hoping that I was somewhat close with the guess. He squinted, and sighed, digging in his bag for a pen."If this is really what you want...I guess I have no choice in the decision." He admitted, scribbling out his elaborate signature onto the contract, "When will we be going there?" I walked over to him, taking the package away from him, sliding it under my arm."A week from today, don't forget to pack, I don't want to be rushing around the day of only for us to miss the flight." He waved his hand around, dismissing my comment, refilling his wine glass."Don't worry. It's not like I haven't rushed to the airport before." He replied while I walked away from him, grabbing my pack of cigarettes out of my jumper, making my way outside for a quick break. The muggy air surrounded me as I stepped onto the front stair, taking a seat on the cold concrete, placing the unlit roll between my lips, lighting the end with my cold metal lighter, inhaling deeply. The strong nicotine filled my lungs, my eyes trailing up to the sky that was starting to look darker and darker with each minute that passed. A wandering thought danced through my mind, letting the smoke jet out of my nose. Maybe the owner is indeed a psychopath, and my dad is right.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It was a week later and I found myself in the concrete steps of the front porch, clutching my leather jacket tightly against my body, absorbing the small portion of earth that it provided me. It was eight twenty at night, and my father was scrambling to find the last few pieces of his luggage. At least he didn’t have to pack his entire bag, he was just missing a few things that must’ve slipped his mind when he was packing a few days prior. I took a deep drag from my Marlboro, a gust of wind trickling against my skin, a shiver working its way up my spine, painfully slow. The door opened, a loud groan releasing from my father's mouth, stealing my attention instantly, as I observed him dragging his two, ultra-full luggage bags out from the house, turning the hallway light off with his elbow. He leaned to the side, placing one of his bags on the ground, taking his key out of his pocket and locking the door behind him.
"You ready to go?" He questioned, as I glanced at the end of my cigarette, holding it between my pointer and middle finger, getting up from the concrete step, taking one last inhale of the nicotine, letting my lungs soak up the strong drug that stung the back of my throat, throwing the rest onto the step in front of me, stomping it out with the heel of my Converse, grabbing my two duffel bags, shuffling towards my dad's black, vintage 1990 Dodge Charger.
He loved old cars mostly because they made him feel younger, it was a connection to his more lively and youthful days, at least that is how I interpreted it. He only drove this specific one, even though he has a barely used storage garage that was chalked full of his prized collectibles. I personally liked the Charger due to the pleasing configuration, the wonderful dip in the hood, the matte paint finish with the matching black rims, and of course the equally darkened windows. As you might be able to tell, this is one of very few topics that my dad and I seem to have common ground in.
According to my sister, my mother used to drive it all the time, and that was the very reason why my dad made it our own personal form of transportation. It was the one thing he refused to let go of after she left us, probably because of all the memories they had with it.
My father popped the trunk open, helping me put everything into the enclosed space, arranging the bags around so they would fit snug, like puzzle pieces. A chill encompassed my body, the mighty air gliding across my skin, goosebumps raising on the flesh beneath my clothes, as my eyes focused on the concrete beneath my feet. I made my way towards the passenger seat, taking one last glance at the house, seeing the emptiness through the dark, curtain covered windows that reflected the street lights off it.
My eyes pulled away from the sight, sliding into the passenger seat, closing the door with one swift move, my father joining me moments after.
The last time my father and I were in such an enclosed space together we were arguing about mom; I could've recalled every word that was spoken like it had happened moments ago, all those hurtful thing that were said that could never be taken back, everything he has said about her...Everything I had said about him. Everything he said about me, about the cruel abandonment my mother had performed on us. By now he must've forgotten what he said, but I knew that I would never forget.
I shifted around in the squeaky leather, my jacket rubbing against the similar material, creating a sound that could almost triumph the horrible noise of nails on a chalkboard. The engine rumbled beneath my feet, the vibrations shaking the car, while I buckled in my seat belt, tightening it so that strap was flush against me, fully secure in other words. The radio faded onto the speakers as my father got us out of the driveway, The muted trumpet of Miles Davis' Flamenco Sketches, echoed through the speakers. Even though he was my dad's favourite composer, it was also a reminder of my mom. I was shocked that it was still playing in the car. My eyes were glued to the windshield, as we drove down the road of our neighbourhood, hitting a red light just before we were able to get off our street, both of us sitting with the ominous trumpet playing in the background.
"If you want to change the station you can." He mumbled the offer, glancing out of the side window.
"It's okay. I like Miles Davis." I replied, feeling his gaze fall upon me briefly, just before the light turned green. The car inching forward slowly as we passed the lights and the intersection.
"I didn't know you liked Jazz." He mentioned quietly, as my eyes were frozen to the sight of the trees passing in front of me, "Judging by the fact you have Sex Pistols and The Clash posters all over your walls, I thought you would find this music absolutely terrible." I shook my head."You and mom used to play Jazz on the stereo all the time." There was silence, the conversation is cut off after the mentioning of my mother, the trumpet slowly fading off into the background of my mind.
When we arrived in the chaos of Cardiff Airport, the relaxed demeanour inside the car had worn off, and the silence had been blown out of the water by my father cursing beneath his breath because of what little parking spots were available. A few crude comments later and we had finally found a spot that was far away from all the others, which would ensure my father that there would be no damage when we came back, that sounds like unrealistic expectations, I know, but I wasn't going to mention that. The rumbling ceased under my feet, as the both of us exited the car, going to the already popped trunk to retrieve our luggage. I glanced down at my watch, noticing that it was nine o'clock, meaning we only had thirty minutes to check-in. The nerves began to settle in, as the weight of my body bounced from one leg to the other, whilst my father placed my duffel bags onto the damp floor.
"Violetine. You're pacing. Trust me, I've been late many times before for check-in time. If you're nice, they'll let you in, no problem." He explained, watching me pick up the two bags, slinging them over my frail shoulders. "But we won't be late anyways." He added, doing the same with his luggage, closing the trunk and making his way past me, motioning for me to follow him. I tried to match his long strides, feeling the bags hitting against the sides of my legs, the weight of them almost holding me down in a sense. The fall air gusted throughout the dingy parking garage, a whirlwind surrounding the both of us, entering the chaotic airport, pushing our way through towards the front desk, hoping to seek some much-needed instructions so we wouldn't get lost. How would they be able to know where we would go if there wasn't even a gate number on the tickets? Just the seat numbers. Maybe we really should've gotten there a little earlier.
My father brought the tickets out from the inside pocket of his jacket, placing them onto the center island which was separating us from the person handling the front. The woman, a young, youthful girl, with fiery red hair,
and dark brown, almost black eyes, sat behind the table, the abrupt movement causing her to flinch as if we had interrupted her. She reached towards the tickets, her freckled fingers falling upon the thick paper, sliding them down to her field of vision, my father beginning to speak.
"It doesn't say a gate number or anything, so I'm hoping that you have an idea of where we have to go." His voice was like honey, a sort of facade that he would put on when he wanted to sound like a kind gentlemen. I
tore my eyes off the interaction for a moment, glancing around at our surroundings, noticing that there were several people sitting and leaning on their bags, either waiting, or sleeping, maybe they missed their flights. It must be a fucking nightmare, a nightmare that I might be joining soon if they don't figure this situation out.
"I'm gonna call my manager, he probably knows where you have to go." She informed, placing the tickets back down in front of us, picking up her old fashioned desk phone, placing it against her ear, her long, fuchsia-coloured fingernails punching in an unknown number. Her other hand tapped gently on the desk, the noise sending shivers up my spine, until she halted the rhythm, clearing her throat and sitting up in her office chair.
"Yes hello sir, its Donna from the front desk, there is a gentleman here with two plane tickets that have our location and seat numbers, but there isn't a gate number." Her Irish accent echoed in my ears, the tapping continuing once again. There was silence for a few moments, her eyes roaming around her desk like she had forgotten where she was. Her maroon lips moved slightly, as she bit the inside of her cheek. "Okay I'll tell him you'll be here soon then, thank you, Sir." She pulled the phone away from her ear, placing it onto its docking station, a wide, glossy smile appearing on her lips.
"My manager is coming to escort you to the designated area if you don't mind just waiting for him off to the side." Her tone was gentle as if she was trying not to sound rude with the phrase. We nodded, moving ourselves to the right of the long counter. A few moments later, the manager appeared behind the desk, coming out from the back room, which we hadn't noticed before.
The man was going bald, his frizzy, grey hair was like a crown to the large spot that was hairless, and right in the middle of his scalp. He had an olive tone to his skin, leaning towards more of a tan colour than anything.
He wore a white dress shirt which had sported faded oil, or sweat stains beneath the armpits, a definition of a mess so to speak. To hinder myself from staring I continued glancing around the airport, gazing around at the potential nightmare once again, while listening to the ongoing interaction between my father and the manager.
"Hey there, my name is Derek, are you the person that has the tickets to the...Hotel?" His voice was husky, deep, and threatening to crack at any moment, he didn't seem to sure about the situation either, that was a give in,
"Yes, that's us." I glanced over at the man, making eye contact with him, his lips turning up into a smile that showed the wrinkles in the bags beneath his eyes, a little nod of acknowledgment accompanying it. He motioned us to follow him, exiting from behind the desk, his black dress pants making a swishing noise with each stride. The chaos of the airport began to die down, the further we got from it, the voices turned into small noises in the back of my mind. It was evident that we were going towards a completely different area of the place, when he opened up one of the doors with his key card, holding it so my father and I could step in before him. The hallway was dimly lit, an orange haze clouding our sight. The door slammed, a sealing noise being heard from behind us, as Derek took his spot in front of us again, to continue leading. Our shoes squeaked against the glossy floor, my eyes glued to the shadows that we created. Maybe he was going to murder us for the tickets...Jesus Christ, what if he does. I took in a deep breath shuddering from the thoughts, and images that popped into my head. Suddenly my sight fell upon the end of the confined hallway, a wave of relief casting over my nerves. Yet another desk, but this time there was a few hostess' standing on both sides, the perspiration on my hands ceased, beneath the straps of my duffel bags.
The women were wearing the designated colours of the hotel, a black blazer with matching black pants, accented with a gold blouse beneath it, this had brought me some comfort, knowing that they were representatives of the hotel, or so I thought at least. As we appeared, their lips, turned up into bright smiles, their hands raising in front of them, instantly grabbing hold of our bags.
"Let us handle those for you!" Our bags left our grips instantly, as another female came in, giving a nod to Derek, dismissing him from the area. She was around my height, a bob cut surrounding her rounded, and chubby cheeks, her tanned skin was dusted with a cluster of dark freckles, which was scattered all over the skin that we could see. She greeted us happily, my eyes catching a glance of her name that read "Cecelia" in bold, gold, and embroidered cursive, with TBHC in the same style above it.
"I am an associate from The Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino, I'll be taking you through your pre-flight procedures today actually, please follow me." Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a worried expression on my fathers worn down face, something that I hadn't seen in years. Quickly I wiped the excess sweat off the palms of my hands once again, as Cecelia halted her quickened steps, turning on her heel to look at us, holding her arm out towards another hallway.
"After you." Hesitatingly, we proceeded down the hallway, noticing a girl with a bowl of yellowish pills, which looked a lot like PEZ. She picked one up with her small tongs, holding it out to me. I declined. "Oh no, you must take one," Cecelia warned, causing both my dad and I to look at her. "It's required for the flight." She added, my eyebrows raising.
"What are they?" I asked, confused. She looked at the girl behind us, returning her eyes to me.
"They're a concentrated dose of a sleeping pill, it's needed for the flight, so we won't give away our location." She revealed, my father and I exchanged a quick glance at each other, then back to him. Couldn't they just
blindfold us?
"And what if we don't want to take them?" My father retorted in a semi-argumentative tone, I couldn't help but nudge him, a sort of silent plea for him to stop asking his burning questions, if he continued to ask and push
the associates God only knows what they would do, even though there was a chance other people would've objected just like him. I could feel my father's eyes shooting daggers at me, as I kept my eyes on the associates who were staring back at us.
"Well if you don't take them, then I'm afraid that I won't be able to let you on the plane, therefore you won't be able to go to the hotel, and we will just get another person to take your place." I felt my chest tighten, the nerves instantly shooting through the core of my stomach, my father's eyes instantly gluing to the side of my face, leaving it up to me to make a decision, and hoping that it would coincide with what he wanted to do. I knew he would be disappointed if I agreed, but I truly wanted to go, and I would do absolutely anything to get there.
My hand reached out to the pill, and I took it between my pointer finger and thumb, lifting it to my dry, chapped lips that held no colour in those moments. My dad, who had the look of anger in his eyes, gave in, grabbing a pill as well, throwing it into his mouth, swallowing almost in a melodramatic way, letting out a soft exhale. I did the same, letting the bitter taste linger on my tongue before it dissolved down my throat. The associates looked at the both of us, handing a pair of blindfolds to us. I was amazed by the prevention, and privacy that they were asking for, we had already signed these contracts, but it seemed like something happened in the past to make them wary of trusting the people that had won.
"Follow us." Her voice was soft, more cheery, since we had complied, even though it was reluctantly. She led us to the entrance of the plane, motioning for us to step into the vessel, noticing that there was a group of people that had already given into the sleeping medication that we had just taken, with their velvet blindfolds pulled over their eyes. If I had to give a number of how many people there were I would probably say thirty-five, maybe even forty. We found our seats, my father opting for the window seat, sliding his blindfold over his eyes after buckling in his seat belt, as I did the same. The fabric was soft and smooth against my skin, as my vision turned black. I leaned back, the backrest of the chair hugging my body, conforming to its frail shape, my consciousness slowly fading away soon after.---------
Turbulence was the first thing that had shaken me awake, the rough landing was not the most pleasant way to greet the new space that we were in either. Nausea laced the inside of my stomach, a distasteful side effect from the mixture of the motion and the sleeping pill itself. A bead of sweat dripped down my temple as a robotic voice grounded everyone within the plane.
"We have arrived. Welcome to The Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino, enjoy your stay." I took my blindfold off, my hair instantly clinging to my face, tickling my skin, before I pushed them out of the way. Flight attendance walked down the isles, waking people up, informing them that we had made it safely. My father was already awake, and his leg was shaking slightly, looking out the pitch-black window. Suddenly a hand tapped my shoulder, my head shooting up to the young gentleman who had a small smile, and pale blue eyes.
"Water?" He held out a glass which I had taken in a heartbeat, quenching my dry throat, my tongue absorbing the cool liquid like a sponge, a sigh of relief trailing behind the last gulp, which garnered the attention of my father. I could still taste the bitter powder that that sleeping pill had left, but I tried my best to ignore it, as people began to stand from their seats, shaking off the tiredness, filing out into the isles in complete disorder.
Although I felt like I couldn't contain my excitement I didn't want to stand, I had the uneasy feeling of lightheadedness and that would only bring me back to phase one if I moved too quickly. On the opposite end, my father seemed rushed to get out, possibly in the need of fresh air. His nervous antics slipping through his cold look; the twiddling of his thumbs, the leg shaking, and of course the constant moving that he was doing within his confined chair. Yes, he travelled a lot by plane, or at least he used to, but when the plane wasn't in motion, he deemed it to be the ultimate enemy of his claustrophobia.
Thankfully the lightheaded feeling subsided as the group of people began to grow smaller in size, slowly I lifted myself up, holding the top of the seat in front of me for reassurance that I wouldn't fall back down. My father sprang up from his seat, and it took him milliseconds to do so. He watched my struggle as I slowly gained my footing, the space ceasing to spin around me, pulling myself into the aisle, my father close behind, taking one step when I took one myself like he knew that something wasn't feeling right with me. Possibly his old, and rusty fatherly intuition that he hadn't used in a while. Once we made it to the large door, which was wide open, and connected to a walkway, I had leaned against the frame to rest for a moment. The flight attendants stared, scanning me with a look of confusion in their eyes, the smiles on their faces disappearing, turning into a more concerned look.
"You okay sweetie?" A female voice asked, a cold hand being placed on the center of my back, maybe it was the excitement that was getting to me, the time had finally come where I was going to have the experience that I had been longing for, for all those years I had waited and now the dream was coming true and those high expectations were dawning on me, or maybe it was the ongoing side effects of the sleeping pill.
"Violetine?" My father's voice chimed in, pulling me out of my trance, my head shaking, trying to wake myself up.
"Yeah, I'm okay, guess I just need another glass of water, still a little drowsy I think." One of the flight attendants beside me, who was in my line of sight, nodded, and within seconds another cup of water was in front of me. The on-lookers watched as I gulped the liquid down like it was a chugging contest and I was the only person playing. I took the rim away from my lips, holding the empty cup in my grasp. A macabre thought pulsing through my mind; what if they were putting something in the water, and this place really was too good to be true. What if this place was some sort of facility where they would brainwash you, or maybe it was a cult, like Jonestown, minus the death and the cyanide-laced Kool-Aid.
"Are you alright now?" The same female voice from before asked, taking the glass of water from my hand, as I nodded, my father sighing gently, almost like he relaxed. "Well then. Have a great stay at The Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino, hopefully, we will meet you again on your flight back." The both of us stepped out of the plane, the velvet red carpet taking all the pressure off my legs. The dim light made it hard to see, but the smell would be something that would be etched into my subconsciousness for the duration of my stay, however long that would be.
It was the smell of summer, fruity notes; lemon, lime, orange rind, mixed with the harsh, yet calming scent of an expensive, and aged bottle of red wine, alcohol was quite a natural scent, that fit well with the scenery of a hotel that was partly a casino. What really took me off guard was the heavy, almost overbearing scent of firewood, cedar, and pine. It was a strange combination that seemed to throw my senses off-kilter, just before I regained control of them. I was already enamoured by the atmosphere and the desire to takes notes or pictures had almost become unbearable to withhold. I wanted to remember every moment, and document it, so I would waste my time every day when I got home, looming over every detail. I used every fibre of my being to hold myself back from doing so, and somehow I managed to get over the urge, knowing that I wouldn't be able to keep all the writing to myself, the contract looming in the back of my mind as well.
The walk was quiet, quiet enough that the silence made my ears ring and pop. it was almost radio silent, the only thing being heard was static, or white noise. The walls that surrounded us caused a barrier like it was shielding us from all outside sound.
"Are you feeling okay?" The sound of my father's voice almost made me jump to the ceiling, even though he had been right beside me the entire time. My heart had skipped an array of beats, and my body felt awake, in a sudden jolt of adrenaline that rocked through me.
"Y-Yeah, I'm fine." I stuttered, as we continued to follow along the winding length of the hallway, which began to grow colder in temperature the more we walked.
"Are you getting nervous that this place won't meet your high expectations?" He asked, trying to engage in a conversation, seeing as though we would be around each other for quite some time. In the back of my mind I knew he was asking because he wanted to leave, he would be relying on my disappointment to do so, but even with such 'high expectations' I wouldn't even have thought of cutting my stay short. It was a once in a lifetime chance, and I had the opportunity of experiencing it first hand.
"I'm not nervous, it's more so a bundle of emotions, it's a mixture of everything, guess its just a very overwhelming thing in my mind," I replied, earning a little glance from him, as he made the decision not to continue the conversation. After the long walk, we had finally made it to the entrance, through the clear windows that peaked into the lobby, people were searching through the piles of bags, trying to retrieve their luggage, which meant that we weren't particularly late, just a little behind. From a distance, I could already hear a commotion between an employee and one of the visitors, the old woman with a flowery bed sheet that she thought would pass off as a dress, stood a short 4'11. She held a fancy straw hat, it was as if she had just come off a cruise around the Bahamas, her skin was burnt, and her feet bared an awful pair of sandals. Her twangy American accent was the first thing I recognized as my father and I entered the area, to watch the scene unfold at a much closer proximity.
"Dude, you're not going through my bag, I've got my own personal items in there, and its absolutely none of your business what I brought, so leave me the hell alone." I could've sworn my ears had turned off instantly after that, my eyes beginning to roam over the immaculate scenery within the bag pickup area.
Michelangelo would've wept, and the angels would've sung if they were present. I felt like God was coming down to touch my finger Sistine Chapel style, and I was going to be taken up to heaven. The architecture among those very walls were breathtaking, I could've stared at them all day, while holding my breath, and somehow I would survive. The black lacquer along the tiled walls gave me shivers, and the only thing I wanted to do was touch the engraved pattern that was carved into them. Gold trimming surrounded it, showing a separation between the tiles, and the only thing I was able to do was stare, as my ears tuned back into the argument, pulling me out of my admiration period that I had been going through just seconds prior.
"Mrs, what seems to be the problem?" The accent that pulsed through my mind was distinct, and slow, it sounded like a drawl of some sort. It sounded like a faded South Yorkshire, or maybe even a Sheffield accent, and it bounced through my mind, echoing off of every cell in my brain, like a song that was stuck in my head.
"Yes! The problem is these people harassing me! This is MY privacy that they're invading and I feel very violated! I don't understand why they want to search my bags, but if they reach for them one more time I will put them in the god damn hospital!" She threw her hat down, causing my father to laugh under his breath, which almost escaped if it wasn't for the cough that covered it up. I tried to stand on my tiptoes, as the crowd began to form around them to watch this argument unfold. That's when I caught a glimpse of him.