Dare You To Dream

                 

He wakes up in a plain room. Four walls, painted the most boring shade of beige giving him a headache. No door, no furniture, no way out. A single circular window to his left illuminates the dull block of space, the only way he can estimate the time. The light disappears without warning; the sun had been at its peak, midday from what he could tell. After a moment his eyes adjust to the dark and he realizes why the light is gone. The window has disappeared, vanished; it's just not there anymore. In its place is a sign: A door is opening. You have 5 seconds to get through. Survive. A sound makes him turn and he can see what he heard. A metal block of a door is opening. 1...He starts to count down the seconds in his head 2...3.... hesitates, then 4... sprints through the door, 5...hearing a thud once he is on the other side.

As soon as he catches his breath he looks around. A hallway, stretching to his left and right for what seemed like miles. His mind starts racing and he takes a chance, recalling fables about people who were able to successfully escape from such places by keeping their hand on the right wall, he turns to his right and takes off. Even if he's going in the wrong direction, at least he will be able to find his way back easier than if he were to just start wandering aimlessly.

He starts walking, wondering if there is an end to this corridor, a turn, a door, anything. Suddenly he drops. The floor vanishes beneath his feet and he's falling. He flails his arms trying to find something, anything that he can hold to stop himself from falling. Everywhere he feels, there is just air which makes no sense since when he fell he had just taken a small step from the steady floor. This made no sense, but then, nothing here did. After an eternity of falling, the walls start closing in, but they are all smooth and one, like a tube. He sticks out both arms and legs trying to get some grip, trying to slow down but the walls were slick and slippery offering no help. He refused to give up and just pressed his limbs harder against the tube, yet to no avail, till it stopped. Landing on what one could only describe as a pile of fluffy pillows, but no matter how soft the landing was all air had escaped his lungs and he could not breath until he managed to free himself from the pillows that were so soft and fluffy, that was sinking into them, like quicksand they were devouring him.

When he can finally breathe life back into his empty lungs he sees the light just a few feet away.  A way out? Couldn't be. That would be too easy. Ignoring the voice of doubt in the back of his mind he runs, sprint towards the light losing his breath once again. No more than five feet away from the light, it vanishes, put out, but he can still make out a door. With nowhere else to go, he forces the wooden slab open just to reveal another corridor. This has to be a dream, a bad dream, a nightmare. He pinches himself, he feels nothing. Kicks the wall, still nothing. Smashes his head against the solid wall, not even a hint of pain. This is a nightmare, has to be; and just as he thinks this a voice in his head booms: I hope most of your dreams come true. Why most? Because nightmares are dreams too, and I want them to stay tucked away in the far corners of your mind.