Sprint Through the Endless Hallway to the Bakery

Sprint Through the Endless Hallway to the Bakery

I was late for the morning shift at the bakery, sprinting down the hallway of our apartment building. The hallway kept stretching, doors I’d never seen lining both sides, each with a different nameplate – some said ‘Studio 5’, others ‘Conference Room A’. I fumbled for my keycard, but it wouldn’t work; the reader blinked a red light and displayed a message: ‘Access denied – alternate protocol required.’ I turned a corner and suddenly the lobby was a grocery store I used to shop at as a kid, the same aisles but the products were all labeled in a language I almost understood. My old high‑school friend Maya was there, pushing a cart, but her face kept flickering between hers and my mother’s. She smiled and said, “You’ve got the wrong aisle, but you’re close.” I tried to explain I was late for work, but the words came out as a series of beeps. The alarm on my phone buzzed, and I woke up to the real kitchen clock, still five minutes before my shift.