Eternal Reverie

Ben awoke to the sound of waves crashing against a rocky shore. He sat up, disoriented, brushing sand from his arms. The horizon stretched endlessly, split between a golden sky and a restless ocean. But something felt... off. He couldn’t remember how he got there. His last memory was sitting in his tiny apartment, nursing a cup of coffee, and flipping through an old photo album.

“This doesn’t make sense,” he muttered, scanning the coastline. No signs of life. Just an eerie stillness.

Ben began walking, his feet sinking into the soft sand. The beach seemed infinite, but he pressed on. Hours—or maybe minutes—blurred together before he stumbled upon a single wooden door standing upright in the middle of the beach. It had no frame, no walls, just a door. It seemed absurd, but curiosity tugged at him.

He grasped the cold brass knob, turned it, and stepped through.

Ben found himself in a bustling city street, skyscrapers scraping a dull gray sky. He glanced behind him, but the door was gone. The air smelled of rain and asphalt, yet the people brushing past him had no faces. Blank slates where their features should be. They didn’t seem to notice him, their movements mechanical, almost rehearsed.

“Hey!” he called, his voice swallowed by the cacophony of the city. No one turned.

Panic began to rise. He ran into the crowd, weaving between faceless figures. Buildings stretched impossibly high, curving inward as though the city were folding in on itself. He reached an intersection where the traffic lights blinked erratically, shifting from green to red in nonsensical patterns. A bus screeched to a halt in front of him. Its doors hissed open, and a faceless driver motioned for him to board.

“No, thanks,” Ben said, stepping back. But the bus honked—an ear-splitting sound that made his head throb. Without knowing why, he climbed aboard.

He woke up in his childhood bedroom.

The faint smell of pancakes wafted from downstairs. Sunlight streamed through the window, and everything looked exactly as it had when he was twelve. The posters on the walls, the cluttered desk, even the crack in the ceiling.

“Ben! Breakfast is ready!” called a warm, familiar voice. His mother’s voice.

A wave of nostalgia washed over him. He hadn’t heard that voice in years. She’d died when he was twenty.

This isn’t real, he thought, but the aroma of pancakes was intoxicating. He descended the stairs, half expecting the kitchen to dissolve into something else. Instead, he found her—alive, smiling, as if she’d never been gone. She slid a plate of pancakes onto the table.

“Sit down, honey. You’re going to be late for school,” she said, her voice soft and soothing.

Ben hesitated. His heart ached. This was impossible, yet he couldn’t resist. He sat, staring at her, trying to memorize every detail.

“You’re quiet this morning,” she said, sitting across from him. Her expression shifted, her smile faltering. “What’s wrong, Ben?”

“I—” He struggled to find words. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Her eyes darkened. The kitchen lights flickered. The walls began to bleed shadows, stretching and twisting toward him.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she repeated, her voice distorting, growing deeper. Her face melted into a blank slate, just like the faceless figures from the city.

Ben bolted for the door, but it led not to the front yard but to a dimly lit forest.

The trees loomed like skeletal giants, their branches clawing at the starless sky. A chill crept through the air, and the ground squelched beneath his feet.

“Wake up,” Ben whispered to himself. “Just wake up.”

But he couldn’t. The forest pulsed with an unnatural rhythm, as if it were alive. He stumbled forward, tripping over roots, his breath visible in the icy air.

“Lost, aren’t you?” a voice said from behind.

Ben froze. He turned slowly to see a man dressed in a suit, his face obscured by shadows. His voice was calm, almost mocking.

“Who are you?” Ben demanded.

“Does it matter?” The man chuckled. “You’ve been here before. Don’t you remember?”

Ben shook his head. “I don’t understand. Where am I?”

The man stepped closer. “Nowhere. Everywhere. You keep running, but there’s no escape.”

“This is a dream,” Ben said, trying to convince himself.

“Is it?” The man smirked. “Then wake up.”

Ben closed his eyes, concentrating. He clenched his fists, willing himself to wake. When he opened his eyes, the man was gone, but the forest remained. He screamed in frustration, his voice echoing endlessly.

Ben woke up gasping, drenched in sweat. He was in his apartment again. The photo album lay on the coffee table. His coffee cup was empty, a ring of dried liquid staining the bottom. Relief flooded him.

“A dream,” he said aloud. “Just a dream.”

But something felt off. The clock on the wall was ticking backward. The photos in the album were blank. He rushed to the window and looked out. His neighborhood was gone, replaced by an endless void.

“No, no, no!” He grabbed his hair, pulling at it. “Wake up!”

The door to his apartment creaked open behind him. He turned to see himself standing there, an exact duplicate, wearing the same clothes, the same haunted expression.

“You can’t wake up,” the duplicate said, stepping inside. “Because you’re not asleep.”

The floor beneath him gave way, and Ben fell.

He landed on something soft—grass. He was back on the beach, the golden sky and endless ocean taunting him. The wooden door was there again, standing tall, waiting.

“No,” Ben said, backing away. “Not again.”

But the door creaked open on its own, revealing a swirling vortex of light and darkness. A force pulled him toward it, and no matter how hard he resisted, he couldn’t stop it.

Ben found himself in a white room with no doors or windows. Just blank, blinding white. A single chair sat in the center, and in it sat the man from the forest.

“You’re stuck,” the man said simply.

“Why? Why can’t I wake up?” Ben pleaded.

The man tilted his head. “Because this is all there is. You keep dreaming, thinking there’s a way out, but there isn’t. This is your reality now.”

“No,” Ben said, shaking his head. “I refuse to believe that.”

“Suit yourself,” the man said, standing. “But you’ll see. Eventually, you’ll stop fighting. They all do.”

The man vanished, and the room began to dissolve into the beach once more. The door reappeared, waiting.

Ben sat in the sand, staring at it.

“I’ll find a way,” he whispered, though doubt gnawed at him. “I have to.”

The waves crashed, the golden sky glimmered, and the door stood patiently, as if mocking him.

And the cycle began again.