The Glass Tunnel

I did this at school. Basically the teacher said stuff like 'there are stairs', and we had to fill in all the details and basically add in bits and write a story revolving around what she said.

     I wake up suddenly, but I do not know why. I have had no nightmares and I heard no loud noises, or even small ones like the creak of the stairs. I glance around the room, surveying it for clues to my awakening, but everything is as usual. Except for one thing. There is an odd glowing rectangle, like a hole in the wall, but not to the outside. A hole to somewhere strange, white and glowing. I know I should just smile and laugh at how strange my dreams can be, but a strange impulse tells me to get up and inspect it. It's strange; it actually feels like I'm moving my duvet, though it feels more like my duvet is filled with leaves from the forest, not feathers from a goose. I've never had feeling in a dream before. It feels strange, too real.
     I near the rectangle and reach my hand toward it. I touch something solid and realise my mistake. It is not a glowing hole in the wall, it is a door. It just so happens that this door is such a clean, pure white it appears glowing. Now I should be surer that it is a dream - doors do not appear in walls for no reason like that! But I am not. If anything I feel closer to reality than even when I am awake.
     I push on the glass handle and the door opens silently and oddly elegantly to reveal a beautiful glass staircase. It leads on for so far that you cannot see it's end. Instead, the end is engulfed in a bright, white light. The strange empowering curiosity I feel is leading me down the stairs. Down toward the light. I feel like I am crying, but no tears are being shed. Why would I be crying? What is this odd compulsion to continue?
     It must have been years and yet my legs do not ache at all. They feel strangely light, like I'm a feather in the breeze. At least that's what I imagine it must feel like. I have never been a feather in the breeze and have never met one who can tell  me what it feels like. My surroundings haven't changed at all. There has been just a never-ending white in all directions and hat's it. Just white.
     I have reached the bottom of the stairs and yet am light as ever. The bright white light recedes to the end of a long glass walkway. Another never-ending collage of white and glass. I reach down and touch the walkway before I step onto it, if anything just  to make sure it's there. It feels smooth and glassy as the stairs but ripples in a strangely fascinating manner. It makes me more conscious of the air around me and how that feels. It's a silk feel. I feel like I should be suffocating but I'm not, instead it's just soft and beautiful. Everything's slightly cold, but not enough to make me shiver. It is almost like I cannot feel the temperature, but I can. If I could not, how would I know it was cold? I do not know.
     I must be halfway through by now. At least. Something just brushed past me. I don't know what it was but I thought I heard soft laughing. It is odd, I didn't see anything coming. But I feel I glimpsed something as it passed. Yet I cannot remember. I realise there is not much I can remember. I cannot remember yesterday, the day before this dream. I cannot remember earlier in this dream. I cannot remember if I usually have such bad memory. There is not mush I can remember.
     The corridor has stopped and I realise now that I have walked straight off it and am standing now purely on light. It should be impossible, but then it is a dream, and dreams are impossible. I felt like dancing forever in this beautiful, magical whiteness - but something was disturbing me. That odd compulsion, that strange curiosity. It feels like a wild animal gnawing at me. It's painful.
     I turn my head and force it up. I find myself staring into the eyes of someone. Who, I do not know. The picture begins to show itself to me, slowly and cruelly. If pictures can be cruel. I have never known a picture to be cruel beofre. The picture looks almost like a woman - almost like me, even. But it is strange, twisted, diluted. If anything it's ever so slightly gruesome, the way the eyes stare menacingly... but don't seem quite attatched to the body. The way the face is gaunt and unhealthily thin. The way that the mouth doesn't look like a mouth, as with the arms and legs and nose and all other body parts for that matter. It doesn't look like a human anymore. In fact, the more I look at it, the more it looses it's shape. Like a word you write over and over until it looks wrong.
     A fear engulfs me and again my memory fails me. How do I escape? How did I get here? I spot a door that I recognise from somewhere - the way out? I run faster than I ever did before, even though I suddenly feel the heaviness that my legs should have had before. Thoes tears I felt before but did not come, I feel greater than ever, yet they still do not come. I run up some recognisable stairs, but then I come to another landing of whiteness. Were there two? I don't recognise this one. It feels like a dead end.
     I spot a gigantic circular window that looks out into a serene place. I think it's serene anyway. It's sort of black with white glowing things in it. I recognise it as being serene. My memory fails me more than ever before. What is it called? Knife? Light? Pace? Spanner? I dismiss it's name and walk out toward it. The view changes. Is this normal? I see my life going past. I smile slightly at the better parts but feel no sadness at the worse. It passes so fast...
     It stops and shows a bloodied body. Too twisted and mangled to define anyone I know. Or even anything. I do not even know if it is human. The fear that I felt when I saw the picture comes racing back. It is defiant. It is like it is blocking something out. I step back, again forgetting the exit. Forgetting the escape. My foot hits something smooth and I spin in terror.
     There is a glass box, yet somehow I cannot see in. It is shattering. Even is it is taking a millenium for the crack I made with my foot to expand and spread with a sound like delicate tinkling bells. Is it unusual that there would be such horrors in such a beautiful place? The glass box breaks and there is a miniature version of the body through the window. It is twisting and writhing horrifically in pain.
     I feel the atmosphere changing, but know not what it has changed from and what it has changed to. There are eyes on my back. Not literally. There are eyes staring at my back. I realise that there is someone else in this room and look up to see a young girl and what must be her twin brother. They could not be more than seven and yet both look ghostly with deathly white skin, jet black hair and unnerving, blinding, white eyes.
     They speak; they say "Hello" in unison. It is a strange, startlingly scary sound, yet beautiful, magical even, in it's own way. I feel like I recognise the voice, but I cannot, for it is not a real voice.
     "Goodbye"

     Everything is black. I realise now that the mangled body was I. I remember now, running into the forest, tripping and feeling a presence. I don't know it it was a dream. If it is still a dream, it isn't going to end. I can tell. That voice was the voice of my killer - an unearthly sound, true, but real enough. The serene view was space, the night sky, for it was night when I died. I can't move anymore. I can't speak, nor can I cry. Even the feelings I had when I was walking, the silk and the glass. It is gone. All I feel now is a wierd numbness. I want to speak. To scream, to cry. But I cannot. To see, even. For I cannot. To shout for help, so someone will save me from this hell. Help. I beg of you. In any way you can. Help me.