Inception

Honey gold dripping from the walls like slime. Candle chandelier flames stuck in motion and a large antique clock on the southern wall, its hands stuck on XII : XX : I .

A snowy mat decorating the floor excluding the elevated platform. Crimson walls and chairs draped in black with white ribbons.

Ahead was an elevated platform of furnished dark wood and people. People in black and white formal wear and gowns.

With ashen skin, they wore masquerade masks of onyx and gold, frozen like wind up ballerinas waiting to be wounded up. Feathery black gowns, fedoras and black roses.

Bow Ties and inklike tuxedos, golden half masks, gelled up hair and top hats. All the same excluding the main couple, donned in the complete opposite in terms of colour theme.

It almost feels like they're frozen in time. No, they are frozen in time. But, How? Why? And most importantly, why are you sitting amidst the not so present audience in the front row, third seat to the right?

Well, questions need answers so you get up and look around once more. Your eyes catch on a metal plaque nailed to a pedestal just in front of the platform.

Wary of the mannequin like people, you walk towards the plaque. Your heartbeat and slightly erratic breathing being the only things you could hear.

Once you reach the pedestal, you look at the plaque and what's engraved leaves you with more questions than you already have. "1966, the mass bombing during the heirs ball left none alive, XII:XXIV" an unsettling feeling weighs on your gut as you look at the clock, XII:XX: XXXI.

30 seconds had passed? You could've sworn the second hand was at 1 and not 31. Feeling weirded out, you raise your head to look at the people on the platform once more.

They've..moved? Glass like orbs stare at you, unblinking. Their clothes were battered and stained in blood. You shake your head, thinking you're imagining things. When you look again, they're back to their previous states as lifeless beings.

Out of curiosity you decide to head to the clock and figure out its secret except all you had to do so was to take a step towards it.

Upon the touch of you shoes sole on the carpet, the second hand ticked. With every step you took, the hand ticked.

Left foot, tick. Right foot, tick. left , tick. Right, tick. Tick tock, tick tock.

When you could finally get a clear look at the clock hoping you were delusional, the clock showed XXII:XXI, proving that you weren't imagining things.

There was a small plaque below the clock. You squint by impulse while trying to read the small engravings. "It was a coup d'etat for the heirs head" so they killed everyone in the ball just to get at the heir? It seemed irrational but then again that guaranteed his death.

12:24. 60 steps. Three minutes. You realise you only have 180 steps before the whole place explodes. Maybe it won't but what were the chances?

You headed towards the people. It is when you look at them and walk step by step that you notice that they are dancing in slow motion. Like a flip book, second by second.

Erratic breathing, messy footing and beads of sweat.

You head to the heir or who you think is the heir, the man in a white tux with a silver half mask. With a closer look you noticed that their skin was in fact as pale as a ghost's. You stepped to the side of the heir, his glassy grey eyes staring at who you presume to be the heiress as if she's not there.

Instead of a fedora and hat, they wore crowns bejeweled with amethysts and rubies. Dancing just moments before doom as if nothing could go wrong.

Without much thought you reach for his mask. It was cold. Before hesitation could take over you tug the mask off of him. What you see makes your blood run cold. Its you.

Chills run down your spine as you stare at a carbon copy of you. You take a step back, trying to breath, the mask drops and cracks in the process but you can't be bothered because the clock had struck.

It read XX:XXIV. Horror didn't have time to settle for loud sounds welt off from left and right. You don't know what came first, your screams, the light or the pain.

You jump awake in bed, gasping for air as your shirt clung onto your back. Trembling hands barely holding your hands up, the slight almost muted sound of a beeping noise getting louder by the second in the distance.

Your "dream" replays through your mind and the beeping becomes painfully loud as your eyes started to focus. Why were you behind the mask? In 1966?  

You notice the hospital gown just then but nurses and doctors burst into the room with worry etched into their faces. The last thing you remember is a prick in your inner elbow before passing out again.

It's almost as if your eyelids ripped apart the next time you open them. You sat up yet again with a lump in your sore throat, trying to breathe air even if its in gasps.

Once you calm down you look around. Blue walls, alarm clock reading 12:24 am. Little light passes through the blowing curtains but most of his coming from your computer in the corner of the room.

It had a site opened. You went towards it and read it despite the pain in your eyes from the light. "The masquerade ball incident in 1966" . an uneasy feeling made its home in your stomach as you read the article.

The heirs name was the same as yours.

    You try to scroll down but the browser glitches and force closes. You check the current date. 26th of June, 2010.

A - Critisism is highly encouraged. :D