Lost In Lucidity

Losing Paradise

My body jolts awake in bed, and my lungs instinctively gasp out for air. The breath feels muffled and labored, though; like my throat is swollen or dry. My vision is also impaired, only seeing the glow of the surrounding room. I can make out blotches of light and shadow, but other than that, I can't see the fine details. It feels hazy, like looking through a thin blindfold.

I lay there for a moment, breathing evenly, trying to come to my senses and let my eyes adjust. My head feels sluggish and hazy, but with how long and lucid of a dream that was, I'm not surprised. The longer I lay, however, the more I realize a few things. The first is that this isn't my bed. As someone who has spent way too much time on his mattress, I know it's feeling by heart, and the cushion beneath me is much softer than my own, like laying on an impossibly fluffy cloud. But if this wasn't my bed, then where was I?

That's when the memories completely flood back. I didn't know where I was, but I could recall the last place I remembered. We were at the train station. Val and I were going to get intel on Mason's group, but before we could, I disastrously reacted to her news and we started fighting. She was about to storm off but turned to say something to me and then... Everything after that is dark, replaced by the long, unwelcomed dream. So, if I somehow fell asleep straight after, then that should mean I'm still in the train station, right? But if that's the case, why is there such a comfortable bed here? Pondering the question, I try once more to look around, which leads me to my second revelation.

My eyes still haven't adjusted.

Instinctively, I reach for my face to find that I was actually correct with my comparison earlier. There's a thin piece of cloth that's been wrapped around my eyes, muffling my vision. My fingers trace the fabric, looking for its edge to peel the blindfold away, but something wrong becomes very apparent after a few moments. It's not a blindfold. It's some sort of bag covering my entire face. The texture is smooth and soft, somewhat familiar in the back of my mind, but with my brain so hazy, I can't place its origin. My anxiety grows with how tight it's wrapped around my face, inducing a sense of claustrophobia, but it gets worse when my fingers reach my mouth and find what's there. At first, I think that I'm interpreting the feeling wrong, but when I open my mouth wider and let my fingers venture a little farther, I know there's no mistaking it.

The bag isn't just covering my face. It's wrapped around my head and stuffed deep into my throat.

I spring up abruptly and reach below my neck, finding the cloak's edge and digging my fingers into it. I yank away hard to pull it free, but this only results in me tugging my skull forward along with it. Whatever this thing is, it's made of some sort of super strong elastic or something. That explains the soft, rubbery texture. I fight it again and again, adjusting my hands as needed to get the best grip on it until, finally, I pry a decent amount of it away from my jaw. I force myself to not panic and take deep breaths past the cloth clogging my esophagus, but all hopes of that are dashed with what happens next. The bag quickly snaps back under my chin, returning to its original position, but not with the elasticity of a stretchy material. I feel the cloth literally move in my hands, actively wrestling against my arms to reclaim my face.

It takes all of two seconds before I lose it and begin desperately clawing at edges once more, this time, violently thrashing my body along with it. I need to get this off of my head. I need to get it out of my lungs. I scratch and claw and fight the fabric in my hand, but with each advance it somehow has enough strength to oppose my arms in return. Only when my fingers locate two small hard pieces interlocked behind my head do I attempt something different.

I force myself steady just enough to get my fingers firmly on the pieces then yank them apart. They feel like little crescent shapes that are connected to the cloth, and when I pull them forward, the entire bag loosens from my skin, save for the part still crammed in my throat. The cloth still fights back, but with the handle I now have in its corners, it's not nearly as strong. I manage the whole thing away from my cheeks and eyes, and that's when I take in the surrounding room, and realize what it is that's been hugging my face this whole time.