Welcome Home

You have to get home. You take the stairs closest to you on your left. Once you get to the top, you see a hallway of doors. You decide to try each handle to see if one opens. None of them do—until the last one. You open that door. Inside you find an empty room with another door in front of you. You walk forward and proceed to open the door. You find a set of stairs. You walk up those stairs to find another hallway of doors. Something feels off. Like the last hallway, you try every door to see if one opens. None do until the last door. You open it and are greeted with another empty room. A door in front of you. This isn't right. You open the door in front of you to find stairs. Stairs that lead you to a hallway of doors. Each one locked until you reach the last door. The repetition is overwhelming. You know what will be behind that door: an empty room. Empty, except a door. And through that door: stairs. You begin to question if there really is a way out. You keep going through the sequence: Stairs, hallway, room. How long have you been here? How long have you gone through the same routine?

You keep walking. You lose track of time, going through the same cycle. Your vision blurs. Things start to become dark. You grow weary. You begin to stumble. You trip over the last step. You can't get up. You close your eyes. But the stairs keep going. The hallways continue. There will always be more closed doors. Always more empty rooms.

You're home.