In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Just a Dream.”
i’m running, but i can barely feel it. in my mind i know that i’m too out of shape to have run this far, but anything seems possible. the sky around me is both light and dark, like i’m alone yet protected. any past worries i’ve ever had, about my grades, the people i hang out with, lack of creativity, all disappear from my mind. it’s almost like i’m intuitively realizing how mundane everything else is compared with this moment. somehow, three doors appear. this surprises me because i’ve been running for so long and nothing has sprung up. i know in my mind that usually, when given the option of doors they’re close together. not this time. i can tell that they’ve split up the circle i’ve suddenly become confined in three ways exactly. 120 degrees. and i look at each one, searching for any anomalies from one to another. they’re all the same, but i can tell which one is which. white and wooden, like they were taken from a perfectly suburban mahogany house. i can’t decide what left and right mean to me. i mean, i’ve always liked the choice of left because most people go right. it’s the underdog of directions. what do they mean politically? i can’t focus, so i just start towards the middle one. and my walk becomes a jog, which turns into a run, and before i can feel the sudden hardness of the door, i wake up.