I reach my hands to my face but instead of touching flesh I am touching plastic. This isn’t right. All around my head I feel plastic. Well that explains the sour smell. The mop bucket. Again. Lifting the bucket from my head I see the line of fluorescent light that can only come from the bottom of a doorway. I reach for where I think the doorknob might be but I don’t make it. My shins meet the wood of what feels like what must be several mops and brooms.
Blind again. I must be near the door though. Pawing around for the doorknob I find the cold circular metal reassuring.
Turn and fall. I’m through the door. Everything is translucent red and sounds hollow. Great, I’ve made it to hell. Let’s get this bucket off. Laughter. Everything is so bright and… then I’m vomiting into the bucket. More laughter.
“See you next year,” Will chuckles. And I’m alone again.