Dream

Alex lay on the narrow bed in his dorm room, the curtains drawn tight, leaving only a faint circle of light cast by the desk lamp. He closed his eyes, the day's experiences echoing in his mind—Scarlet's warning, the secret of Lena's uncle.

"Too tired..." he murmured, his voice trailing off as weariness washed over his consciousness like a tide. He succumbed to sleep almost instantly.

His dream unfolded like a thick mist, and Alex found himself standing in a void, with no walls, no ground, only an endless expanse of white, like a giant blank photograph. He glanced down and saw a smooth surface beneath his feet, reflecting a faint sheen, like the gloss of a Polaroid. He tried to step forward, but found that each step felt like treading on emptiness, the sound hollow, echoing with a slight "thud."

"Where is this?" he muttered to himself, but his voice was swallowed by the surroundings, dissolving into a blurred echo. He adjusted his glasses, looking around, trying to find an exit, but all he could see was white, unsettlingly monotonous. Just then, a ticking sound began, like a second hand beating in his ear, slow yet jarring.

He reached into his pockets, but found them empty, even his folding knife and pebbles were gone. His heart tightened, and he whispered, "The Other Side?" He remembered Scarlett's words, those bizarre places appearing at random, and perhaps this dream was not just a simple dream. He tried to squat down, his fingers touching the ground, cold and smooth, like glass yet soft. "If it's the Other Side... what are the rules?" he muttered.

The ticking of the stopwatch grew clearer, as if surging from all directions, making him breathe rapidly. He stood up, trying to discern the source of the sound, but the white space had no direction. He closed his eyes, held his breath, and tried to grasp the rhythm—tick, tick, tick—but at that moment, a whisper echoed in his ear.

The voice was indistinct, like the howling of wind through a broken window, or someone murmuring softly in the distance. He frowned, "Who's there?" He strained to listen, but the voice remained inaudible, as if separated by a thick fog. "What are you saying? I can't hear you..." he muttered. He tried to walk forward, the sound of his footsteps intertwining with the ticking of the stopwatch, but the whisper grew fainter and closer, as if teasing him.

Alex recalled the blank Polaroid and the corroded pocket watch in the basement, and a suspicion arose in his mind. Perhaps this place was related to those things. "If I'm in the photo... how do I get out?" he whispered. He tried tapping the ground, his knuckles striking the smooth surface, producing a crisp "thud," but there was no change in the surroundings.

The whispering suddenly intensified, like countless voices overlapping, piercing his eardrums. He covered his ears, whispering, "Stop it!" But the voices ignored his protests, continuing to coil around him, and the ticking of the stopwatch accelerated, as if counting down. "Rules... I have to find the rules..." he whispered. He forced himself to calm down, trying to find some rule here that could help him survive.

Just then, a sharp ringing tore through the dream, and he opened his eyes with a start, finding himself lying in bed, his dorm room alarm clock screaming on the desk. He gasped for breath, whispering, "A dream?" He sat up, sweat beading on his forehead, his heart still racing. "Too real... that voice..." He rubbed his temples, his eyes narrowing: "The Other Side, or something else?"