The Lights Of The Halley Building

Of all the apartments in the Halley building, only one is occupied. The narrow, Gothic Revival tower at the very end of the street, stands in white gleaming contrast to its squat brownstone neighbors, which themselves seem bent askew by comparison, as if they are shying away from the severe lancet windows that glow gently in the autumn twilight. 

The lights in the empty apartments turn on and off periodically throughout the day, but when darkness falls, each remains lit, flickering brightly until the dawn. The only window which is never lit, night or day, is the intricate rose window composed of green and gold stained glass. At the very top of the tower, it looks down upon the rest of the street like a dark, unlidded eye. 

While it is true that only one apartment is ever occupied, it is not true that every other apartment is empty. 

Each apartment in the building is a lifetime, and there is a man inside who wanders from room to room, losing himself in life after life after life. 

Previous tenants of the Halley Building did not suffer this fate. They entered a single apartment, turned on their light, and lived a single life. When their life was done, their light went out, and the apartment became available for the next tenant.

The man who is lost, the man who wanders, had been a normal tenant, once. Until one day, long ago, he tried to live two lives at once.

The Halley Building has many rules, and this broke almost all of them.

Now he wanders through that building still, living one or some or many lives during the the course of the day, until night finally falls and, exhausted, he is asleep. In that sleep, he dreams, and in his dreams, he dreams the dreams of all his lives, concurrently, simultaneously, all at once. Each night, the myriad desires of countless lifetimes collapse into the black hole of one single solitary night of sleep. 

It is a nightmare. 

-For LDR