The ringing blows my dream world away in one shrill blast of reality. I nearly shoot up in the bed, my head still buzzing from whatever surreal nightmare I’ve just escaped from. What was it about? It’s leaving me already; I can’t remember.
The phone rings again. This one stirs my body awake to join my mind. Whoever it is has to go away. I’m not ready to face another day. My leg is twitching itself to life, and I run a lazy hand through my hair as my eyelids manage to pry themselves apart.
More ringing. A hand shoots out from my bed and snatches the receiver. I press the cold plastic to my ear, and a groggy voice that was probably mine says “Hello?”
"This is your wake up call, sir."
"I didn’t ask for a wake up call." Am I in a hotel? What city am I in? How much drinking was too much?
Silence is the response. The line’s dead. What time is it? There’s no clock in this room.
This room. I lift myself to a sitting position. This is not some motel room. This is not any room I’ve ever slept in before. The furniture is something out of Victorian New England, and the only light seems to be coming from old fashioned lamps mounted on the walls by the corners. The only item that doesn’t fit the pattern is the phone, straight out of 1950’s suburbia when everything was Smeg. What thankless situation have I gotten myself into now?
I shake the cobwebs from my head and try to remember just what the hell happened to me? How did I get here? Have I been kidnapped? There are no restraints around and no masked man with a knife watching me. Reassuring, I suppose. I don’t feel drunk or hung over, so how did I get here? It doesn’t matter right now; I just have to leave.
I stand up slowly. My legs work fine; thank God. Why was I sleeping with my shoes on? There’s daylight spattered across part of the ceiling from a partly-drawn curtain over the window. I almost look out but I just want to leave. I walk to the door; it’s open a bit and so I step out in the long corridor. Long is an understatement. What I presume to be the exit is a tiny red dot at the end of this solid, institution-grey hallway. The walls are bare, and though there’s no visible light source I can see just fine.
I walk forward. I reach a hand to my side. The walls are smooth and cold, untouched in some time or band new. I’m not sure. Have I been here before? The air seems to be getting thinner as I walk for what seems like forever. It’s getting colder and when I look I can see my breath now. There’s no sound. There’s no noise from pipes or vents, nothing from outside. I can’t even hear my own footsteps. Looking back, I can’t see the room I came from.
Then the noise comes all at once, shrill and overpowering, seemingly all around me. It’s long and slow, and somehow familiar. My head aches, and feels ready to spill its contents with each impossibly loud blast. It’s all I can muster to stagger on, my feet seemingly independent of my will, their own desperation to escape this endless grey the only thing keeping me moving.
The sound is closer now. Is it right outside? Is there an outside where I am? The corridor almost quakes at the noise, and I struggle to remain standing.
I reach the door. It’s the only touch of colour in this endless grey. I turn the handle slowly and push it open, letting it swing out into the brilliant, endless white beyond. The light hits me like a tidal wave and the sound is almost deafening, leaving my ears ringing. I shake my head and press my eyes, as I’m enveloped by the light.
The ringing blows my dream world away in one shrill blast of reality. I nearly shoot up in the bed, my head still buzzing from whatever surreal nightmare I’ve just escaped from. What was it about?
—
Credits to: King_Bulywyf
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