Through the blood soaked hallway I walk until I enter yet another room, this one keeping the brain like interior with the exception of a huge hole in the wall. Like the other doorways I’ve walked through, this hole appears to be a tunnel, but it’s rounder and kind of cave-like. 

I’m staring at this cave trying to get a grasp of what this room is supposed to be when everything starts shaking. I know that it can’t possibly be an earthquake, but my instincts tell me to duck and cover. 

Then, in a quick motion a colossal worm-creature erupts from the hole. One can’t even fathom how big this worm is, like we’re talking “Dune” level huge. The monster is bright pink, smooth as can be, and has a gaping mouth full of razor sharp teeth. It opens its mouth and makes its way towards me, rattling as if it is about to spout some sort of vicious war cry. I stand there struck with fear. 

I could not have predicted what came next. 

Entirely out of the blue, this gargantuan worm begins singing “SpringTime for Hitler” from the Mel Brooks-made musical The Producers. A cacophony of instruments and voices come from the worm’s mouth, with catchy lyrics such as “Duetchland is happy and gay” and “I’m the German Ethel Merman” assaulting my mind and body. 

I recall having watched the film adaptation of the irony laden musical not long ago and for many days after I did indeed sing “SpringTime for Hitler” on repeat due to its ludicrous nature. Something about that song just refused to leave my brain, I now know it was this worm-guy keeping up late at night thinking about gay Hitler singing “Ev’ry hotsy-totsy Nazi stand and cheer”. 

As entertained as I am by the whole display I still find the worm rather disturbing and decide to try my luck in a different room. 

I wander into “Bad Ideas” hoping to find something of interest. This room is structured similarly to the rest: fleshy and wet; however, there are sticky notes all over the place. It looks like a bad YouTube prank in here. A fiesta of scribbles on stationary. 

I glance at one that simply states “Back to the Future, but with lizards and Dinosaurs” , I think I found the room where dreams come to die. The next note to grace my presence says “Number 1 dad joke: Do you think Moscow has a booming cattle industry? You know because MAS-cow…”  

I walk out filled with shame. 

I survey my options yet again. I think I’ll avoid “Core Memories” seeing as I’m sort of enjoying the random selection of experiences I’m having, and I’m far too out of it to appreciate a deep look at my life so far. So, I guess that leaves me with “3 A.M. Thoughts”. 

This room is pitch black. everything has gone dead silent and there is a slight chill in the air. Without a great commotion a voice comes from nowhere and whispers directly into my ear “When I have a sore throat I want to rip it out and rinse it with cold water.” 

Following suite the same voice states, “When I read I don’t automatically see images in my head. I have to actively create them, is that weird?” Then, “How can my mouth feel dry while actively being coated in saliva?”

Ah, I get it, it’s all those random little thoughts that cross my mind in the dead of night when my brain can’t just leave well enough alone. 

A few more thoughts cross my path, “My bones often feel itchy when I’m anxious” “I could go to bed at 1:00 and wake up six hours later and feel fine, but if I go to bed at 12:00 and wake up at six I want to die. It’s the same amount of sleep, what’s that about?” 

These are all things that I could spend hours pondering, but honestly it all begins to make me tired. The chaos of the hours/days/weeks, I’m not sure how long I’ve been here, have drained me. I feel myself fading and so I lay down. Despite all of the thoughts passing through I’m really sort of comfortable.

The floor is cozy. 

Now I’m back where it all began, cuddled up in a puddle of blood and scared of what I’ll see when I open my eyes.