Endless Hallway and the Crowned Boss

Endless Hallway and the Crowned Boss

I woke up late for work and rushed out the front door, but the hallway in my apartment building stretched forever. I kept passing the same cracked paint and a flickering hallway light that never quite turned on. At the elevator, the doors opened onto a dim, stone‑walled corridor that smelled of damp earth, like an old cellar. I stepped in, and the elevator was gone. A woman I hadn't seen since high school—her hair half‑gray, but still wearing the same varsity jacket—stood at the end, holding a clipboard. She asked me for a report I never wrote. I tried to explain I was late, but my words turned into a soft, echoing chant. She smiled, then turned into my boss, who was now wearing a medieval crown and a fur cloak. I panicked, fumbled for my keys, but they were stuck in my pocket like a stone. Finally I woke up, heart racing, still in my pajamas, and realized I’d missed the bus.