Here I am... Again. Asleep and dreaming the same dream once more. I'm currently in a room with grey walls, a ceiling, floor and no windows. A single lightbulb hangs overhead by a twisted wire while a fly angrily buzzes around it, hitting the warm surface repeatedly. The grey wallpaper is peeling, showing old paneling behind it's coarse surface.

Wait a minute. Who made the wallpaper coarse and why!? I have questions for the interior decorator. At least the carpet is soft and wet. Wait...

Looking around from my position on the floor I notice the carpet has begun to form a red spot all around me. Brushing my hand across the damn material I raise it to my face and see that my hand is stained red now.

Oh yeah. I'm dreaming and this is where the fun begins.

Indescribable pain assaults my body through every permeable inch of tissue. I scream but no sound is emitted almost as if an invisible vacuum was in place to suck away my voice. Oh yeah and I can't breathe. The feeling of asphyxiation and choking follows as the red liquid bubbles out of my mouth.

Houston at this point I would like to inform you that gravity has left the station. The red liquid has begun to flow up the walls, painting them red, and continues all the way to the ceiling and to stopping at the hole for the wire where the light hangs. Meanwhile I'm now suspended in the air, choking and somehow laughing.

I hate dreams.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Then the eyes begin to protrude from the fresh coat of red paint and stare at me with the vacancy only death could bring. Imperiously I stare right back, choking and manically laughing. The room changes and the light becomes a sun, the ceiling the sky, the eyes now belonging to a faceless crowd of people and my head is firmly lodged in a guillotine.

Oh cool it gets worse!

The ominous blade, marred with faint scratches from other beheadings, looms overhead before the rope is cut and the blade rushes to meet my neck. It never gets there.

My eyes snap open and I'm lying in bed, in my black panties, a cold and feverish sweat having pointlessly amassed across my pale skin. I look down at my body, head attached and flawless bust raising and lowering rhythmically as my lungs calmly work. Casting my dull maroon irises around my room I find that it's dark, and my alarm clock rudely flashes bright red numbers at me while my fan refuses to turn. Ah, the power went out.

"Whoops..."

I crawl out of bed with begrudging effort before rising to my feet and grabbing my robe, on my way out, which had been resting neatly folded on my dresser. This is why I keep everything ordered and neat. I could find my way through my abode blind and disoriented if I had too.

Note to self... Let's not test that theory.

I crack my foot against my bedroom door and stumble out into the hallway. A variable slur of curses leave my mouth as a walk down the hallway and to a section of wall that has a lone painting.

Pressing my hand to it the wall slides back into a hidden recess and a cacophony of angry screams rush up the stairs,leading down, to greet me as I pass the threshold. Without a sound the hidden wall slides back into place and I descend into the madness below.

Oh by the way. I'm a doctor.....-ish and no my dungeon of horrors is not legal, and yes I am a 'bad person' get over it. Lots of people are. Me being a 'bad person' is the least of your concerns.

My name's Dahlia Aetorsol, this is my world and the life I've chosen to live. Welcome to the madness.