His body lay still on the bed.
Breathing.
Heartbeat steady.
From the outside, he looked like someone having a deep sleep.
But he was gone.
Day 1 (Outside)
His mother thought he was just exhausted.
"Let him rest," she said.
No one noticed that his fingers were ice-cold.
Inside the Dream
He opened his eyes.
Or at least… he thought he did.
The sky above him was wrong—
not dark, not bright, but unfinished, like reality forgot to load properly.
The ground beneath his feet felt solid, yet unreal.
Then a thought hit him like a shock:
I didn't wake up.
The First Death
Time passed strangely there.
Hours felt like seconds. Seconds stretched endlessly.
Something unseen pushed him.
He fell.
Not from a height—
but into nothing.
The moment he felt fear—
Everything reset.
Again
He was standing somewhere else.
Alive.
No pain remembered, only the certainty:
I died.
The Rule of the Dream
Slowly, he understood:
He could not escape.
Death did not end anything.
Every time he "died," the world restarted differently.
Different place.
Different fear.
Same outcome.
The Laughter
Then he heard it.
Soft. Calm. Close to his ear.
Not cruel.
Not loud.
Almost… playful.
"One week outside," the voice whispered.
"How many years do you think you'll survive in here?"
He turned.
No one was there.
Outside — Day 3
His mother shook him gently.
"Wake up… you'll miss school."
No response.
Doctors said it was stress.
Deep sleep. Temporary.
No one noticed the shadow under his eyes growing darker.
Inside — Years Passing
He stopped counting time.
Days blurred into decades.
Decades into something meaningless.
He grew up.
Then younger again.
Then older.
Each time thinking:
This time will be different.
Each time being wrong.
The Truth
Finally, she appeared.
Not clearly.
Not fully.
Just a silhouette behind the world.
"Sleep properly," she said softly.
"You still have a long way to go."