Beneath the Surface

Martin, slightly annoyed by the interruption, put down the book and walked towards the door. He opened it, expecting to see a fellow passenger or maybe one of the crew members. However, to his surprise, there was no one outside the door. The ship's corridor was unusually quiet, as if the sounds of the ocean had seeped into every corner, making it feel almost like an eerie calm before a storm. He peered into the hallway, but it was empty, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

Confused and intrigued, Martin closed the door again and returned to his room. He shook his head, dismissing it as some strange coincidence. As Martin sat on his bed, he couldn't shake the feeling of restlessness around him. The ship's movement made everything feel unsteady, like the ground was shifting. As he reached to put the book Stefano gave him back in his bag, he noticed how the sunlight cast playful shadows from the pages onto the floor. The room felt different, charged with a strange energy.

Days went by, and the ship trip came to an end. The air outside felt heavy and thick as Martin got off the ship and returned to Madrid. He couldn't wait to get back home and call Mark, as Mark had instructed him. However, when he tried the number, it was unavailable.

Martin decided to book a cab and go home, hoping that maybe he would be able to meet Mark later. The driver asked him, "Sir, where do you want to go?" Martin gave him the address, and the driver explained, "Actually, I am new to the city. I don't know all the routes. Please guide me on the way so I can drop you off at your destination." Martin sat in front as the time passed by, and the driver shared stories of his life in a new city.

As they approached the destination, Martin noticed the familiar shop where he used to work before joining the palace as a servant manager. He asked the taxi driver to drop him off there, and as he stepped out of the cab, the city's atmosphere seemed to press down on him even more.

Martin entered the shop, and there he saw the co-worker with whom he used to clean the dishes. The co-worker, surprised to see Martin after so long, asked, "Hey, where have you been? It's been months! Why did you leave the job?" Martin recounted the incredible events that unfolded after meeting the three men and the opportunity he received to work in the palace. As he spoke, he felt like the words carried a weight he couldn't explain, as if they held a certain power.

When Martin finished his tale, the shopkeeper wore a thoughtful expression. "You know," he said, "Your story sounds like something out of a dream. It's so fantastical, almost surreal."

Martin felt a sense of jealousy in the remarks of his ex-co-worker, and for a moment, he couldn't help but feel a feeling of disappointment, as if his experiences were being reduced to mere fiction, negating their significance. Without saying anything, he turned and started walking towards the door. As he moved, it felt as though every step was a struggle, as if the very air around him resisted his every move.

Upon reaching close to the door, Martin caught a glimpse of his reflection in a mirror. The mirror seemed to distort his image, making him appear smaller and more insignificant. He suddenly stopped and yelled to his co-worker, "Seems like you haven't been cleaning the mirrors properly."

His co-worker, taken aback, asked, "Why? What happened?" Martin replied, "Like your brain, this mirror is seeing me as the old Martin who used to clean the dishes and mirrors. It's showing me how poor I am and how poorly dressed I am." His co-worker laughed, but there was an edge to the laughter. He came near Martin and said, "Have you gone mad? How can a mirror lie? You were always like this."

Martin, in his anger and confusion, rushed out from the shop. The weight in the air seemed to grow heavier with each step he took. He started walking rapidly towards home, passing by other shops. In the windows, he caught glimpses of his reflection, and every reflection seemed to mock him, showing the Martin he used to be. His feet felt heavy, and his breath started running out.

Upon reaching his neighborhood, he ran towards his home, but when he stood at the door, he felt something different. It wasn't his home. The familiar place he once knew had changed. The place was completely different from what he remembered. He asked the people in the neighborhood, describing all the details of the three men and the palace, but no one knew what he was talking about. It was as if the events he experienced had vanished, leaving no trace.

With each passing moment, Martin felt more and more lost, like a ship adrift in a storm, unable to find its way back home. The weight of the world seemed to bear down on him, and the air around him felt suffocating. As Martin sat on the sidewalk, he felt heavy with the thoughts in his head. He tried to hold on to what he imagined, not wanting to let go of the world he had created. But as time passed, he couldn't ignore the truth anymore.

The three mysterious men, the fancy palace, and the important job he thought he had—they were all just things he made up in his mind. It was like seeing things that weren't really there, and it made him feel lost and confused. The air around him felt strange and made him believe in things that weren't true, trapping him in his own made-up world.

As he told his co-worker what had happened, he saw the disbelief in their eyes. It was like they were watching a wild story unfold before them. But Martin knew the sad truth—he was stuck in a complicated maze of schizophrenia. It made it hard for him to tell what was real and what was just in his mind. His understanding of himself and the world had become all mixed up, and he felt like a stranger in his own life.

The taxi driver's story resonated with him because it mirrored his own struggles, a haunting reminder of his past battles with reality. Each step he took toward his supposed home felt like a journey through a land of dreams he could no longer distinguish from reality. The city he once knew had transformed into a maze, and he couldn't escape the shadows of his own mind.

In a moment of painful clarity, he realized that the life he thought he had lived was nothing more than a fleeting dream. The palace and the glory he had visualized had never existed, and the people he believed he had met were mere figments of his imagination. The weight in the air became suffocating, the atmosphere charged with an eerie sense of unease and anxiety.

Martin's mind struggled to comprehend the shattering of his illusions, and he could feel the fragments of his reality slipping away like sand through his fingers. As he sat there, almost lost in his own thoughts, he spoke his last words with deep sadness, "They say today is my last day, but I can't remember living any of it." It was a sorrowful realization of how fragile the human mind could be, tricking us and mixing up what's real and what's not. It was a reminder that our imagination can blur the

lines between what's true and what's just in our heads.