In the dream, there was a square room with nothing inside except a single bed and a desk beside it. The bed was against the wall, next to the sole window in the room. Looking outside, the night sky was starless and dark. However, the outline of bare trees could be faintly distinguished, as though they had been painted on with black ink.

Inside the room, everything was white: white walls, white carpet, white bedsheets, a white metal bed frame, and a white desk with a white wooden chair. The bulb hanging from the ceiling was emitting a magenta hue, bathing the room in a purple light.

The carpet could be felt beneath bare feet that did not exist. It appeared to be newly installed with a thick underlay that made it light and cushiony. The sheets felt like smooth cotton underneath hands that weren’t real, and the bed had been so neatly made that even sitting without a body would ruin it. Every sensation was familiar and alien. There was nothing to do except take in the experience and remember before time ran out.

However, not everything appeared new. On the wall, beside the desk, a crevice extended about a metre down, revealing some rubble underneath and emitting a distinct draft. The bed frame also had some wear and tear. The white paint placed on the metal was starting to peel and rust was starting to creep up the frame. The rust kept bursting through previous layers of paint and spreading further.

There were no possessions to make the room appear lived in. The only object was a plastic frame containing a lenticular image, placed atop the desk. The frame was dark grey, and the solid plastic made it heavy to pick up. Tiny screws were placed at the back, indicating that the frame contained batteries to backlight the picture within.

When held one way, the image was of the open ocean. The sea was grey, and the sky was overcast, dull and lifeless. When tilted, however, the image transformed into two dolphins jumping above the ocean. Side by side, with one slightly behind the other. A brightly coloured coral reef below the ocean’s surface could be seen, and there were sun-rays bursting through the clouds.

The tint of the magenta light did not affect the image. Instead, the image competed with the magenta hue by illuminating the vibrant colours within it’s own frame. The ocean itself seemed to sparkle, and the coral reef seemed alive. The colours were so vivid and luminous that they surpassed any existing colour in the waking world. What would it be like to stay and build something new? …

Outside, however, the wind howled. The window rattled, and the temperature in the room plummeted. In the darkness outside, the tree branches were violently jolting in the wind. The branches moved so close that they were almost clawing at the window. The room would not hold.

It was too late. An unseeable presence was fighting for control. The mind was out of bounds, and the body knew, sounding the alarm. In that moment, mind and body could not have been more separate. Two possibilities existed then: to go back to sleep or to wake up. This was an anomaly. The mind cannot be awake while sleeping, and yet it was, but only for a short time.

Like a patient trying to resist anaesthetic, it was no use. The agency was taken. Trying to remember the experience was the only option. To remember and wait for the next time the mind escapes back into this realm. Remember that dreams can be as real as matter, and colours can be so vibrant that they make the living appear dull. Remember that worlds exist beyond reality. Remember, before the walls of the room crumble and turn to ash. Remember, before the lights go out. And remember before the waking world forgets and the darkness outside takes hold.