Samir knows and does not know that this is a dream.

The maze is endless. It is cold. It is bare. He is alone and not alone. Others are close, ahead or behind. He knows they are there, but he can’t see them or hear them.

His footsteps trace a line that runs through the maze. A path he must follow. Is it the same path, endlessly repeated? Are these twists and turns different and new? He can’t be sure. Not of anything.

There is no sun in this maze. It’s open, but the sky is a gray haze. There is no night, no day. The gray doesn’t change. It isn’t clouds, with their volumes and patterns. It is simply…nothing.

The floor and the walls are stone, also gray. Broken flagstones that have been worn smooth with time, the path on which he walks has just enough cracks, just enough unevenness he must be careful not to trip. Sometimes he fails at being careful, and he has to put his hand out to catch himself against the equally broken wall.

Beneath his hand, the stones of the wall are chilly and damp. They’re unpleasant to touch. Samir tries to be careful so he doesn’t have to. That care lasts for a little while, but then…

It’s as if he forgets. As if he cannot focus. His memory is shallow and flat, empty and vague.

There is something important he must remember. Even more important than watching his steps.

Something about swimming…

Drowning…

He is drowning.

Which is silly because he isn’t drowning. He’s walking the maze. There is no water. Only the damp stones and the wet chill that sinks through his clothes and settles against his skin until even the memory of warmth, of comfort, eludes him.

But he is drowning. He struggles. He fights. Tries to rise. Tries to breathe.

Step after step.

Breathe.

Rise.