Chimera

Part 2

As nothing fades to something, I become increasingly aware of the space around me feeling more and more restricted. Maybe it was better to be in that strangely peaceful dream-purgatory. Again, I don't recall wanting to head this way. Did I really have a choice?—about as much of a choice as continuing in this dream rather than waking up.

I know that walls are nearly closing in around me with each step I take but there aren't any walls to be seen. I am being guided by the neglected or attention deprived inner workings of myself.

Damn, I can really be a nuisance at times.

I see the heavy wood of the crimson colored door right in front of me now. The old, tarnished brass of the heavy door knocker makes me stare for a moment. It's the door of my parent's house. I love that door. Suspended in this emptiness, I know I am meant to go inside. This is a nightmare, however, and that door isn't going to open into my old home. I have a slight idea of what is going to greet me upon opening this door, so I want to hesitate. But I don't. Rather, I can't.

I step up and through the doorway to be welcomed by more darkness. This time, it seems that I am walking on a damp, stone flooring. I can feel mugginess thicken the air as myself and the surrounding oxygen grow heavier. I reach for my neck. I want to put my hair up so I feel a little less suffocated. What's this? I have... long dark hair? My hair hasn't looked like this in years. There's no color, no bangs, and it's down to my waist; it's just as I remember it. I want to put it up and out of my way but this is a nightmare so, naturally I don't have a hair tie.

I shouldn't expect things to go as desired. I should be used to constant struggle and discomfort in this state. But how was I supposed to know that such an arbitrary detail, created by my subconscious, would add so much eeriness and discomfort? I mean, it's just a hair tie. It may seem meaningless, but anyone who has had long enough hair might know—just as well—what humidity feels like to me in this moment. I'm aware that I am being quite dramatic but it's not ideal; it feels as if the moisture in the air and the sweat that my body suddenly produced has given rather malicious life to my hair. As a result, locks of hair find opportunities to link to and wrap themselves around portions of my neck as if they were soft tentacles sticking in place. Why is it so warm and so humid so suddenly? Sure, I've felt uncomfortable from humidity before, but this is making my skin crawl before anything has really happened. I wipe the hair away from my neck once more.

I would continue to beg myself to wake up, but I must admit that I'm somewhat curious now. I'm impressed by what my subconscious is capable of formulating. 

A stone built hallway illuminates itself in front of me. There are no windows. It's still silent. I'm still alone. However, there is now light. With this light, I feel like I have a tool. There doesn't appear to be any sources for it, but it's an orange and yellow type of glow that reminds me of candles or even torches. And as if I were carrying that torch, the light is strongest around where I stand while it fades into darkness as I look ahead.

It's time to get going.