You wake up, but you’re not in your bedroom. You’re in a circular room with seven doors to choose from.

The one directly in front of you is heavy wood with rune carvings.

The second is painted blue like the sky.

The third is glass, but you can’t see through it.

The fourth is a plain door covered by a tapestry of Egypt.

The fifth is green with emerald encrusted drawings of flowers.

The sixth is made up of oddly shaped mirrors.

The seventh is bare and ugly and locked. Maybe you could find the key if there was one. Problem is there’s not a key hole.

You could try one of the other doors; they’re all unlocked. But you want to open this one. Your fingers caress the hinges. You pull. You push. You wait.

Eventually a clock chimes two off in the distance. The lock clicks. You push it open and stumble into your own room where someone else is laying in your bed.

Fiction

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