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Description
He's lying on his bed. The door is locked. He stares, unblinking, at the ceiling. His limbs feel heavy, cumbersome, lethargic. Straining, he tries to move an arm that is no longer his. No response. Desperately, he attempts motion, struggling to motivate flesh turned to lead.

And then the voices start. They whisper to him from his peripherals, whispering dark, unspoken secrets of the fathoms of his heart. He screams, through lips that don't part.

And then he woke up.

He's lying on his bed. The door is locked. Mouth dry from his nightmare, he pants, inhaling deeply. There is smoke in the air. He looks down. There is fire, at the foot of the bed. Panicked, he struggles to rise, fights to get up; but his hands are chained, by blood and iron.

The flames lick at his feet, and his skin peels back like cellophane. He screams, through the heat and smog.

And then he woke up.

He's lying on his bed. The door is locked. Sweating and hot from his nightmare, he opens his window. Too late, he realizes there is no air outside. The water stampedes through the threshold, rushing in with reckless abandon, pummeling him and throwing him backwards. He battles against the current, wading through the rising liquids, fumbling for the doorknob. Grasping it, he twists.

It rattles, unyielding, against his wet palm. He screams, as the water takes him, and it becomes a gargle.

And then he woke up.

He's lying on his bed. Terrified from his nightmare, alone, in his room, he sobs himself back to sleep.

The door is locked.

Description
He's lying on his bed. The door is locked. He stares, unblinking, at the ceiling. His limbs feel heavy, cumbersome, lethargic. Straining, he tries to move an arm that is no longer his. No response. Desperately, he attempts motion, struggling to motivate flesh turned to lead.

And then the voices start. They whisper to him from his peripherals, whispering dark, unspoken secrets of the fathoms of his heart. He screams, through lips that don't part.

And then he woke up.

He's lying on his bed. The door is locked. Mouth dry from his nightmare, he pants, inhaling deeply. There is smoke in the air. He looks down. There is fire, at the foot of the bed. Panicked, he struggles to rise, fights to get up; but his hands are chained, by blood and iron.

The flames lick at his feet, and his skin peels back like cellophane. He screams, through the heat and smog.

And then he woke up.

He's lying on his bed. The door is locked. Sweating and hot from his nightmare, he opens his window. Too late, he realizes there is no air outside. The water stampedes through the threshold, rushing in with reckless abandon, pummeling him and throwing him backwards. He battles against the current, wading through the rising liquids, fumbling for the doorknob. Grasping it, he twists.

It rattles, unyielding, against his wet palm. He screams, as the water takes him, and it becomes a gargle.

And then he woke up.

He's lying on his bed. Terrified from his nightmare, alone, in his room, he sobs himself back to sleep.

The door is locked.