MicroHorror

I sit here, staring at unfamiliar surroundings, four dingy white walls, and a large steel door.

This bed, it feels strange, the sheets are not fresh-smelling like my own. It’s dark outside. The shadow to my right seems to be following me, or am I following it?

I feel so vulnerable. Alone. Naked.

I hear a knock on the door. A man enters, holding an item in his hand as he calls out my name. I don’t know him, yet he acknowledges me by my first name. Why is he here? He’s coming closer. I can just about make out his face from the amber glow of light that seeps in from the open door, striking the side of his unshaven cheek.

He is a large man, and he is asking me to take this item from his hand. He tells me to drink from this small white cup. To avoid a confrontation, I do as he says. I should attack him and rip out his heart, my mind gestures, but I will not. Why should I bother with someone who is only here in my dream? He will be gone soon, and then I can go back to my happy place, where my soft plush rug fills the floor with its gentle touch under the soles of my feet.

He interrupts my thoughts, trying to get my attention. I ignore him, drinking the remainder of whatever concoction he placed in this cup, crushing it in my hand as he raises his eyebrows at me, as though he despises my action. He now walks away from me. I can hear him lock the door. Finally, he is gone. I lie back in bed. I close my eyes; my mind tells me to rest, young man, go to your happy place. I am finally home.