The Attic

I had a dream that I was exploring an attic. (“A dream, how dull.” But stay with me for a moment.) At first I was walking through finished corridors: white walls, proper floors. But the halls were narrow and full of many branches. A maze of twisty corridors, but not all alike, because as I progressed the attic became unfinished. Bare studs and plywood, and nothing safe to walk on, and then somehow the only places for me to walk were along the backs of other walls forming corridors I couldn’t get to. Where I walked was so narrow that I could barely squeeze along, but it was a dream and of course I had to keep moving. I had to find my way back to the finished halls and then I’d certainly be able to find my way home.

At last, shoving down a corridor no wider than me, I found a tiny room amidst the rafters, warmly lit and standing out against the dim dustiness. It was still unfinished, but clean, and on a sheet of plywood were two neatly made pallets, sized for children, each with a doll waiting for its owner. It looked, at first, as if it had a wider exit from the other side, but that was just an illusion as I discovered when I stepped inside. As I was looking at the hook from the side that was a wall, not an exit, the door I’d entered through _clicked closed_, pulled to by something outside.

Reader, I was terrified. I _knew_ that even if I opened the door again, the hall beyond would not be the one I arrived via, that the whole maze would be different and now I’d never be finding my way back to my original path.

And this is the thought that crossed my mind: I could just stay here in this lit attic room, where it was warm and comparatively pleasant, with the memories of children. I would be taken care of. I could just stay here and not even check to see if the door was locked, not venture out into the horrible maze where I never seem to get anywhere. I could just stay here instead of seeing what was beyond the door now. There would be peace instead of terror, in a little room designed to contain me. I would never be anywhere else again, but that seemed so attractive, because otherwise I was so afraid…

I woke up, and I was still afraid.

My brain can do some symbolism, what?

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