Dreams | Completed | #Wattys2020

Chapter 1 - Everybody Hates Mondays

I hate Mondays. I ponder how unoriginal that thought is as I roll over in bed to hit the snooze button on my phone for the fifth time. It's now seven-fifty, and I really needed to get up and get ready for work twenty minutes ago. Clinging to the last vestiges of sleep, I reminisce about the weekend that's just passed. I attended the engagement party of my friend, Skye.

I rarely think about being single, except when I see my friends getting married off one by one. My best friend, Vanessa, deals with being single far better than I do. She told me to enjoy being single while it lasts, got drunk, and later in the evening sent a sly wink my way before leaving with a very cute guy on her arm. Nothing fazes Vanessa, but I tend to hold onto things. Even now, two days later, it's still bugging me.

I groan as my alarm renews its buzzing. It's crucial for me to get out of bed without further delay. Reluctantly, I sit up, reach out to turn on the light, and switch off my alarm. I head to the bathroom and have a rushed shower, get dressed quickly, and gulp a bowl of cereal. Gathering my things, I open the front door in time to see the bus driving away.

"Damn it!" I curse as I shut the door and head back into the house, locking the front door behind me.

I walk back through the kitchen and grab my car keys, hanging on its usual place on the hook. Unlocking the car, I open the door and throw my bag onto the passenger seat before sliding in. I drive to the train station and roll my eyes when I realise, of course, I've missed my usual train to work. I really hate Mondays.

The next train arrives, and I get crushed into the pack, left standing with not even a handrail to hold. I sway back and forth in sync with the other passengers and allow my eyes to close. I can hear the odd conversation going on and music coming from a set of headphones nearby. I pull out my phone, put my own headphones in and, turn on my playlist of the moment. I'm so tired. I start to drift off to sleep, easily imagining I'm back in bed, instead of standing in this train on my way to work.

The room starts to materialise around my dream bed, and I realise it doesn't look like the bed I'd imagined previously. The bed is sitting in a room I've never seen before, either. Instead of the pastel pink walls of my room, these walls are a light beige colour with a chocolate brown feature wall behind the head of the bed. The drawers beside the bed and the chest of drawers in the room aren't mine, either. In fact, the whole layout of the room is different.

My bed, with its curved pillows and flower-patterned quilt cover, looks nothing like this king-sized bed with chocolate-coloured bedding which matches the wall behind it. I move forward and pull back the covers before climbing into the bed and enjoying the blissfully soft mattress. I begin to relax, feeling the tension easing from my muscles slowly. This bed feels exceptionally comfortable, unlike any I've laid in before. Being as tired as I am, I lay on it and find myself drifting off into a peaceful sleep.

From the adjoining room to the one I'm lying in, I hear a male voice say, "This is so weird."

I suddenly realise I'm in a strange room, lying in a strange bed, and there is a stranger in the next room. I throw back the covers of the bed at once. Looking down, I can see I'm wearing my work clothes, the ones I put on this morning. I notice in my haste to get out of the house, I've managed to misbutton my shirt, and roll my eyes at myself.

Now isn't the time, though. I need to figure out what the hell is happening. I can hear someone walking towards the door and watch in horror as the handle turns, and it starts to open. Like the idiotic heroine in a scary movie, I don't move a muscle. I just stand there waiting for the possible killer to appear in front of me.

"Next stop, Esplanade," a tinny voice says over the speaker on the train.

I snap my eyes open and look around in confusion at the people around me. It takes me a second to remember where I am. Damn. I really want to know who was behind that door, even if it was a murderer. My curiosity needs soothing.