Every day is the same day if living inside a demoralizing world...a struggle to contain disappointment, regret, bitterness in the same cylinder called a heart. Why, of course a cylinder! For it has no true edges, just a smooth, marble wall for emotions to bounce off one another for as long as it takes a circle to find an end.

And then...inspiration strikes.

Suddenly I am embedded and cushioned by fascination. My heartbeat races to catch up with my breath. Anticipation hums in every drop of my rushing blood. Tantalizing images beckon underneath my eyelids. An involuntary shudder ripples down my body as I allow myself to the possibilities, the what-ifs, the maybe-I-cans. A chance to absolute tranquility? To feel the rush of the oceans in the palm of my hands, to bury my feet underneath the hot sands...remotely away from every human being...

But then I wake up.

The sands replace itself with grains of the fuzzy white carpet, the waters with empty air. The white blinds of my window warp the stream of cool sunlight so that bars of shadow lock my countenance. The same bars hood my vision. Ara? Everything is in shades of spoiled white, the ugliest nature of the human mind. But I am satisfied. Even though it is an unpleasant color, the existence of nothing else makes it a state of blankness I crave. I breathe in the calm nothingness. My eyes open, and I paralyze with shock. In front is a broken doll, a dirtied teddy bear, a cracked ceramics figurine, all murmuring in incoherent speech like a sick April Fool's joke. I clutch my body tightly, but the trembles will not stop, neither the ghastly whispers. Even the picture frame that is suppose to hold the picture-perfect of everything jeers.

But then I wake up.

Drenched with cold sweat, I move shakily off the bed in time to hear the turn of the lock. Keys jingle and familiar voices slice the chilly air. The warm presence of my parents in the house verifies that everything has been silliness unsuitable for my age. I walk out with a smile of relief, but before so much as half of my greeting is complete, heinous words shoot off at rapid fire. My expression fades with the rising of accusations and spoken desires to remove my existence. Lashes follow, leaving lines of light red on my flesh, permanent marks of betrayal. The air is no longer a cocoon of warmth, but a cave frostier than ever before. There is nowhere to hide with a naked mind. One by one, my limbs are lifted and shackled on the white wall with invisible chains. Struggling has always been futile. Per chance these break, it will haunt for eternity, the sounds of chains dragging behind me.

But then, still, I'll wake up won't I?