When one wakes up from the dreadful sleep from which one can call a nightmare. Was it really a nightmare? or just the discreet vision of pain from others that dwell in the unknown. As you lift your corpse from the morning sun and deflect it on the bed a wicked one this way comes. You gather your sense and open your eyes. Nothing - nothing - nothing is creeping among the lost rows of the walls. Paintings turn with the pages of the steps, looking, watching, ever so intently as though you were one not to exist. Thoughts of the dreaded dream gleam with importance while not remembering the truth of your surroundings. The door swings open and what lies ahead is just another plain room. Where is the wicked one from which it comes? cracking noises of pipes echo from the short distance, rushed you feel, uneased you move. Outside you are with other corpses, lost? no found, yes. Closed eyes you find when opened you......
