Theme
I wake up to an dim reddish glow in my room, coming from outside. It's abnormally quiet; I push aside the curtains, look out the window and see a bright light to my left. Curiosity outweighs my fright so I rush from my room, quiet so as not to wake up my family, and slowly pad down the stairs, out the front door. There's no red glow, no trees, no street, no houses, nothing that I expect to see.
There is only a long silvery-white corridor, endlessly long, with doors on either side of me. Some look to have even amounts of space between them, others are so close together they could be double doors. My house's front door no longer lies behind me, only a vague ominous feeling that pushes me forward. So I take a step, then another, going to peer at the doors. One isn't a door but a painting severely out of proportion. Another is mesh so closely interlocked I can't see through to the other side. A third looks like the trunk of a tree, all gnarled wood, but there is a handle and it's shaped like a hand waiting to be clasped. They're all different entrance ways, unique in some minute aspect.
One always catches my eye. This time it's a plain door, plain only because the others seem extraordinary in comparison, solid black, with no handle. It looks like fabric or construction paper, easily parted or torn. I want to touch it, reach to pass through, feeling that there's something waiting for me on the other side. Before I can, or see beyond the doors that I have managed to open in the past, I always wake up.