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Hotel California

Hotel California

By Mitzi Danielson-Kaslik

On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair, warm smell of colitis rising up through the air, up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light, my head grew heavy and my sight grew dim, I had to stop for the night. There she stood in the doorway, I heard the mission bell and I was thinking to myself this could be heaven, or this could be hell. Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way. There were voices down the corridor I thought I heard them say “Welcome to the Hotel California”.

As I re-entered the room, the floor lay blanketed in a thick charcoal carpet that appeared rather worn out. Many items lay strewn upon the carpet oddly as if they had been thrown and just landed, not that I could particularly remember performing such an act; an old pair of socks, a pair of black stilettos and a battered old black notebook. Their service complete all methodically thrown upon the ground. Cast aside.

The walls were thinly papered in crisp magnolia lightly patterned with intricate twists and swirls in purest white. The wallpaper was poorly attached and peeling at the corners. In the corner, a small crippled luggage rack hid against the wall bending under the great weight of my black and white gingham suitcase, my large black leather camera case and what I could only assume was my black knee length coat with silvery double-breasted buttons. Strange. I was sure I was wearing that. Obviously not.

A double bed stood against the shortest wall with a towering headboard with a plush salon pink covering and crisp cream sheets beneath a thin quilted navy blue spread which neatly matched with two scatter cushions. A light pink baby doll lay folded upon the pillow. Opposite, a small clean window partially obscured by a cream curtain displayed a view of a darkened starless sky above a desert highway. Empty now. Dust blew over the tarmac from a cool evening wind. The Hotel California was the only source of luminance for miles around, no moon corrupted the darkness. The light the hotel emitted reflected off the road outside and back into the room itself. Not that it was like this the first time I came here, though I cannot be sure quite how long ago that was or if it was even really here. The first night I arrived the room was quite the opposite with mirrors on the ceiling, the pink champagne on ice and she said, 'We are all just prisoners here, of our own device'. And in the master's chambers, they gathered for the feast, the stab it with their steely knives, but they just can't kill the beast. Last thing I remember, I was running for the door, I had to find the passage back to the place I was before. 'Relax,' said the night man, ‘We are programmed to receive. You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave!”

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About The Author
Mitzi Danielson-Kaslik
About This Story
5 May, 2019
Read Time
2 mins
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