Chapter 1: The High-Rise Dilemma

No one truly understands my origins—not even I do. I find myself trapped, having infiltrated a J.G. Ballard-inspired high-rise through the 27th-floor window, akin to special ops or perhaps a bird in flight. A glass flower lies shattered on the floor, and I step on the shards with my tan Converse. The toilet has been running for hours, a symphony of new-era ASMR. I approach the window to gaze at the streets below, where chaos reigns in the frantic movements of the pedestrians, all engaged in a competitive frenzy to comply with societal expectations.

I take deep breaths, visualizing the unseen cycles of my lungs. I raise my hands to the sunlight, watching my shadow dance, feeling as if I'm reunited with you once more. I spin on my heels and head toward the bathroom, jiggling the toilet handle. If one thinks about it, I’m not truly stuck here.

There exists a stairwell, but I choose to avoid it. The hazards of people traversing up and down are too great. Living in an apartment brings its own charm, filled with unsolicited conversations and the thrill of eavesdropping through thin walls. I reject elevators, embracing fire escapes instead, savoring the sweet notes of jazz that linger in the air. They believe I’m unable to leave, and I relish in the thought of them hanging in suspense, like bait on a hook. Someone might come along, devour the narrative, and accept the city's portrayal of me—a mere construct.

Navigating through my cramped apartment, I allow their pre-recorded voices to wash over me, echoing through outlets seized by shouts and radio signals. I plan to release my whispers in the Sobriquet, where the truth floats like air, ascending for the City to witness. They question why I reside in such a confined space; I respond that the walls envelop me warmly, inspiring me.

Yet, there are watermarks and patterns, hints of social decay. The louse-people scuttle below, ever searching for the next virus to cling to, craving something new to perish from. They idolize this fear.

But I won’t leave just yet. Not until their diamond-like eyes are looking but not truly observing. Then, I’ll scatter like loose papers down the streets and through the sewer grates, carrying my message with me. Who says ink cannot metamorphose individuals? Transform places into testimonies and people into parchment.

I dart around my apartment, seeking solutions to stave off boredom. I ponder how transference and transformation differ and reflect on how my entry into this place does not dictate my exit. It’s challenging to articulate the solutions to the turmoil in my mind. I wield a metaphorical machete against emotions that obstruct my path.

People ascend to towers to either isolate themselves or shut others out. I’ve come here to observe, ensuring the City maintains its equilibrium. However, I must eventually depart to preserve my identity. Prolonged exposure to these individuals can lead one to mirror them, to adopt their speech patterns. Spend too much time in this high-rise, and you risk becoming more structure than human.

I must act strategically. The City has me under siege, eager for me to scurry out like a mouse for the taking. The City is a predator, and recognizing this gives me an edge. Predators experience hunger, and hunger is a vulnerability—vulnerability breeds mistakes.

Light pours through the window as I coil the lift cord around my finger, akin to a third eye. I am witnessing the City anew, or perhaps for the last time. When I finally leave, it will be to reshape the maze to my will—distinct from Deaderman, where I once navigated the labyrinth, and different from the time I was a faint light, moving slower than 186,000 miles per second.

I fling open the window, allowing the breeze to rush in, granting me an illusion of agency over the universe—over the paths people take, their destinations, and their choices. I lean against the skeletal wall of rhetoric, tapping my foot to its encrypted rhythms. The toilet bleats, and I resolve to exit this tower, to abandon this City. I will go forth and spread my message across the City like a mural. I am not confined here, I remind myself.

Roman Newell is diligently crafting his debut novel—20XX—a work of magical realism that delves into the intricacies and conflicts of contemporary society amidst shifting social norms, rapidly advancing technology, and the effects of trauma. Follow Roman's Substack to join the 20XX contact list.

Chapter 2: The Urban Escape

In the midst of this chaos, I reflect on my purpose and the struggle for identity.

The first trailer for "High-Rise" starring Tom Hiddleston provides a gripping visual of the chaotic world within urban environments, where the architecture reflects the psychological landscape of its inhabitants.

The second trailer gives further insight into the high-rise's societal implications, showcasing a world where isolation and conformity collide.