It was a nightmare. Everywhere he looked the same monotonous décor. Doors upon doors. On the walls, the floors, even the ceiling. It was ludicrous. Insane. How could this happen? He must be dreaming.
Sara’s question popped into his head. “How do you open a door creatively?”
He’d laughed. There was no creativity in opening a door. You turned the knob. Pulled it open. If necessary, you used a key. That wouldn’t work here. His pockets bulged with keys. None of which worked.
The question echoed in his mind, in search of an answer. A few hours ago it wouldn’t have mattered. It would have been, to paraphrase, a question wrapped in an enigma. Nothing more.
That was then. Not now. Tendrils of reddish gas seeped in, clouding the dim light. Dizziness filled his head. Doors banged open and shut of their own accord all around him, but locked him out when he arrived. What was the key?
He fell forward onto a door and banged his fists on the wood. “Help me,” he cried.
It opened and he fell.