A god didn't visit him in his dreams. The devil didn't strike a contract with him. He never let a demon inside his house, nor did he ever listen to an angel's lies. No matter how he tossed and turned the subject of the matter, he couldn't find a logical reason as to why he woke up inside a prison cell.

Lothar pried his memories open with the grip of a dying man and tried, in vain, to search for the last remaining moments of his life. Shock overtook his mind, he supposed, for he didn't yell or scream. He laid on his back, on the rough mattress, and cited every prayer his mother beat into him when he was younger.

The never-ending sound of dripping water and snores of strangers kept him awake. He tried to ignore them and let his mind rest, but no matter how much he tried to pretend that he was in his old apartment room, on a rainy night as his neighbors fucked next door, he couldn't. The biting cold of the metal around him and the putrid smell of shit, piss, and god knows what made it a tad bit hard. The sound of hammering increased so much that he thought the construction crew decided not to take a break this Sunday again.

He regarded his moist palms for the fifth time this hour. They were big and rough, scarred and dry.

These are not my hands

The noises inside his head grew louder. He realized then that the thudding came from inside his chest.

This is not my room

A bead of sweat leaked from his forehead and dropped noisily. He looked around the metal box, rubbing his eyes then bit the inside of his cheek.

How could this feel so real? A lucid dream?

He fumbled with his dirty grey overall and rubbed at the goosebumps on his arms.

Why did the cold feel so real?

He never dreamt like that before. It was unnerving and creepy. Everything was; from the vividness of the grey, metal cell to its gloominess. He closed his eyes, turned sideways, and bent his legs so they would fit the small bed.

Did I get taller or is this bed made for an imp?

He tapped twice on the metal wall, just to hear anything other than the plink of water or his dreading thoughts. The sound came out louder than intended and even echoed.

"You Eros damned bastard, let us sleep!" He jumped at the yell and his breath hitched. The sound came from somewhere on his right. He opened his dry mouth.

"Who is it?"

"Your father, now listen to daddy and shut the fuck up!" Lothar heard a few snickers that sounded from everywhere before the suffocating silence drowned even the sound of the strangers' breathing

He deemed it would be wiser to close his eyes and try to sleep again rather than ask more questions to, most likely, his cellmates.

.....

Sleep didn't find him. He walked around his empty cell, recollecting himself and figuring out how he could wake up from the unnerving nightmare. He had tried pinching himself and counting backward from one hundred, but neither option worked.

Lothar worried he'd oversleep and miss class. His students have an exam in the morning and he would need to wake up earlier so he could run to the printer store and make 20 copies of the test.

He already regretted leaving the task until the last minute. Lothar grimaced and emptied his mind, not wanting to sour his dreams with thoughts of work. He sighed and turned to his bed, jumping on it and sighing loudly.

It creaked and bent under his weight. His imagination ran wild as to how he might look. Lothar noticed his hair was straight and black, not the curly brown of his mother and the ground looked further than before when he tilted his head down so he assumed he was not dreaming as himself.

He wondered why his subconscious mind changed his whole look, he could understand his height since he always was self-conscious about his 5'7 but not the rest of him. And what of the weird setting? He was a lawful citizen, and never had too many incriminating thoughts outside of the norm. He certainly never acted upon them either.

No need to think about it anymore. I'll wake up soon anyway.

Lothar groaned at the uncomfortable pillow and slipped his arm beneath it to draw it closer under the crook of his neck. He was surprised when it bumped into a pointy edge. He shot up and pulled the little notebook from beneath and studied the words splattered in red ink on the dirty brown cover. It was stained, he took a sniff and hoped it wasn't anything other than water.

The words read 'Journal', Lothar was immediately reminded of his old diary that he kept when he was 10 or so. He had lost it a long time ago during his first move and hoped his memory retained some fragment of his young thoughts for nostalgia's sake. He turned to the first page, eloquent writing filled it. Lothar frowned, it was definitely not his 10 year old self's handwriting.

His eyes scanned over each word, his assumption that it was his old diary completely off the mark. Lothar finished the first page, the fifth, then the tenth. The further he went along, the more noticeable the tremor in his hands grew until it failed to hold the book straight.

He snapped it shut, and threw it aside like it was a plague carrier. Lothar shoved every emotion, thought, and speculation behind a wall of denial he had built a long time ago and closed his eyes. He rested his pounding head on the pillow once again. This time he fell asleep, hoping he'd wake up to the sound of his alarm.

.....

The smell of freshly baked bread woke him up. He pried his heavy lids open and crankily lifted himself on the warm mattress. His stomach growled as he rubbed his crusty eyes, and his arm shot back grasping his phone. He turned it on and immediately cursed, he turned down the brightness from half-closed lids and checked the time. It was 7:25 AM and he was late for his new job. His plans of walking there went up to smoke.

The phone's screen went black, he tried to turn it on but it seemed to be out of battery. He cursed again, shot out of bed, and ran towards a wooden chair at the side of the room. He picked the half-clean white tee and put it on before pulling up his black, washed-out jeans. He switched the light on but the room stayed dark. Cursing again, he dashed to the window and accidentally tripped over an empty beer bottle.

His knee hit the hard floor first, with a loud bang, then his face. He cursed for the fourth time this morning and painfully stood up. He would be limping today and he made his bed with that. He opened the curtains to let some light in. The same view of the same brick wall welcomed his sight and it only solidified his week-long newfound resolve.

A view by the sea.

He softly smiled before turning around and kicking the bottle away and then putting on his shoes. He raced to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. He briefly stared at his reflection before splashing his face with cold water and combing his messy, brown hair back.

Five minutes later, he was out the door, with his empty wallet and high hopes. He stopped in front of the bakery below his apartment and deeply inhaled, he let the savory smell fill his stomach then continued his jog to the bus stop. He sat on the bench and fished out a paper and pen from his coat pockets. He started counting as he drew a rough sketch of a little girl wearing a big flower in her hair. She was smiling brightly, holding what seemed to be a small handbag. The bus stopped right before he finished polishing the rough lines, he stopped counting and cursed.

It came early today

He put the pen back inside his coat and stood up, some people gathered around him and went up one by one. Lothar tapped his foot on the ground as he waited his turn, his head darting around his surroundings.

Never seen the neighborhood this quiet.

"You going in?" He turned his head abruptly to the bus driver. Colton's hair was frizzy, his dark eyes sunken into his head and the smell of cigarettes was so pungent that he didn't doubt the hairs of his nostrils combusted.

Lothar took a deep breath and masked his face properly, he put out the arm that held the picture of the little girl.

"No need, I wanted to give you this."

Colton's eyebrow shot up. His eyes remained blank, however. He took the paper and opened it, and as if a dam had broken, Colton's true feelings poured out.

A strained gasp sounded, it was obvious how much Colton wanted to bury his grief but Lothar had hit the pain where it bled most.

"I'm sorry, man. I wanted to give this to Becky but I didn't have the heart."

Colton nodded repeatedly, fingers digging into the paper. He traced the lines of her face longingly.

"Took me a couple of hours, crumbled more papers, and broke more pens in those hours than I ever did in my life." He nervously rubbed the back of his head. Tears dripped on the paper and Colton was still nodding. Lothar almost cursed out loud as the lines blurred and the face of the happy little girl distorted.

"heard you guys lost everything, the albums pictures and all. That's why–"

"Can you draw more?" Lothar wiped the sweat off his forehead and hid his relief.

"Of course, man. I'll be busy from now on, though. I actually have to go to work now."

Colton snapped his head up "You got a job?" The look of pride on Lothar's face was genuine this time.

"Yes, an old friend from high school helped me find a teaching job at a new and small high school. Today is my first day, actually."

Colton wiped his runny nose on the back of his sleeve.

"So you were waiting for me at the bus station to give me this and then walk to the school?"

"Wouldn't have waited if it took more than 10 minutes. I have 30 more minutes to get there, so see you around."

He turned around and mumbled some prayers. He walked a few footsteps forward before Colton stopped him "Hop on, Lothar. I’ll give you a ride."

"Thanks, Colt" Lothar flashed a smile and climbed up. He took the furthest seat from everyone else and settled in.

He asked the teenager, with a red hair strand, whose nose was buried in a book for the time.

It was 7:40 and he would have been ten minutes late if he had walked.

Colton would never have let him ride along for free, the man wasn't charitable. As far as he and everyone else in this neighborhood knew, it was Colton's greed that killed his daughter. The guilt kept him up at night and everyone and their grandmothers knew. Lothar just saw an opportunity and took it, the only reason he played the man's grief to his benefit like that was because he was desperate. He didn't have a penny to his name and can't lose this job.

The ride was quiet, and ten minutes later he stood in front of the building. Lothar adjusted the collar of his coat and looked up with a racing heart. This is it, even if he dies today he would die knowing he tried; that was more than what half the bastards that he grew up with did.

He marched forward but abruptly stopped. His foot was stuck, he looked down and to his horror saw it was buried into the concrete floor as if it was quicksand. The more he moved the further he sank, he looked around in panic but the streets were deserted. The bus, cars, and pedestrians just vanished. He was all alone.

"Shit. Help!" The echoes of his scream fell on deaf ears, he sank and drowned.

.....

Lothar's head shot up, his sweat-stricken forehead creased as he noticed a guard regarding him bizarrely from behind the bars. He opened his mouth but the words died on his tongue as the placid man walked away. It was then that he saw the small plate of food and cup of water resting on the floor.

Never mind any of that, he was more than shocked to still be here. How did he dream inside a dream? His mind was in turmoil, an invisible hand wrapped itself around his neck.

None of what was happening made any sense. He never dreamed anything this vividly, not for this long. He barely even dreamt at all.

How long has it been since I woke up here?

Where am I?

Questions followed questions, they boggled his mind and pushed him further into the chokehold of fear. Lothar croaked a strained gasp realizing he was holding his breath. He hugged his drumming head, his vision shook and blurry lines appeared on his peripheral. Then the sound of his stomach growling snapped him out of his inner meltdown and eased his panic attack enough for him to gather half his wits.

He stood up and kneeled in front of the weird-looking stew and searched for utensils but found none. Didn't know what he expected, this was a prison after all.

Lothar sighed and ate the food without hurry and was glad he did so because he almost broke his teeth biting into a rock. he spat the mouthful out and saw debris inside the mix of stew and saliva. He gagged and wiped his mouth off, leaving the plate as it is. He gulped the water and smacked his cracked lips in relief. He walked up to the cell bars and studied the outside. in front of him was a cell, just like his, where an inmate was busy working out.

He was a huge man, with striking blonde hair and a long, braided beard. Tattoos covered his chest, back, arms and neck. There were scars all over his skin and Lothar could smell the scent of battle off this man. He took a step back, this place is filled with criminals, he just realized. Real bonafide criminals and the Viking-looking fella was as unfamiliar to him as everything else around.

He didn't see any guards positioned in the corridor which he found weird. Even weirder was the lack of noise or conversation between the prisoners. It had been around eighteen hours since he woke up here if his time perception wasn't screwed. That means he was late for work and the principal had probably already signed his firing letter.

The bastard had it in for him from the first time he came to the classroom barely tipsy. Although, nested dreams were fucking weird from what he heard so maybe it was still four AM and he was inside his bedroom snoring.

His uneasiness palpitated over the surface, the whole experience wrapped his stomach in knots. He doubted it was the food he just ingested because his uneven breathing indicated another panic attack on the rising. He couldn't lose this job.

Just then a loud banging reverberated on the metal walls, followed by the sudden shouts of scorn coming from most prisoners. He peeked to the right where a huge door opened, two guards went in while another two waited outside. He craned his neck to see the outside but couldn't. the two guards started opening the row of cells opposite his, dragging the prisoners out. some walked on their own with a mix of desperation, defeated calm, or indifference on their faces. Others fought back or tried to escape. Lothar was dumbfounded by the events, those men were acting like they were visiting their executioners.

The ones who fought got beaten into submission by the batons hung on the guards’ belts. One, in particular, an old man who's got no business having a voice so high, kept clawing and biting as he screamed incoherently. This was a new kind of horror Lothar never experienced, in which he just observed a frantic fight of a man with too many layers on his skin and too few teeth inside his mouth, without being able to say a word. A man who should be either left alone or left to die, never to scream the way he was.

One of the guards was clearly hesitating to use his baton, a small act of civility in a place made to punish people. However the other had an annoyed look on his face and was not hesitant to pull out his own which elongated with a push of a button. He swung it at the old man's kneecaps, rather aggressively, which resulted in a pop that flattened the elderly on the ground. Lothar winced and grit his teeth, he realized that the shouts of the prisoners had gotten louder. Yet none of the ones who were behind the guards stopped the act of brutality.

Cowards, he wanted to scream but he was raised not to be a hypocrite.

The one who showed mercy grabbed the old man and called for his other partners "Take him to the doc. Ronny, move your ass over here!" The two guards placed outside came in. Ronny, the youngest looking one, took ahold of the elderly and with strength that seemed impossible for someone his stature, carried him out.

The second guard had helped move the prisoners outside in an orderly queue. When they got to the cell in front of Lothar's, he could see clearly the severe lines on the guards' faces. They did not like their jobs at all. He didn't recognize them either. None were people he knew or met in his life. His heart hammered away inside his ribcage, he feared they would hear it and turn their attention to him. They ignored him completely, however.

"Leave this one, he has an appointment with Oki in a few." Lothar was mildly surprised when the guards left the Viking-looking man alone. The latter didn't even move from his bed, Lothar suspected he was even sleeping. How he could do so, amidst the deafening noise, Lothar didn't know.

Soon the whole row of cells emptied and the prisoners were escorted out. The door shut behind them. Lothar was both anxious and curious as to where they were going but he had the mind not to ask anyone.

It doesn't even matter, he thought.

I’ll wake up soon.

.....

Lothar had busied himself the past hour by singing, willing himself to forget about the notebook. He sat on the cold floor, his head leaning on the bars as he tried to make conversation with the Viking. The latter had been uncooperative, to say the least.

"What about Elliott smith? Heard about him?"

"No''

"Okay. change of genres, Eminem?"

"No"

"Slipknot?"

"No"

"Ramshackle glory?"

"No"

"...Chopin?"

"No"

Lothar sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration "Then how about you tell me what you like to listen to?"

The man lying in the same position as him finally looked at him, his expression blank.

"I don't know names, I know sounds."

"That can't be... You don't even know the name of your favorite song?"

He shrugged.

"Then how about you sing it? I definitely must have heard it."

The man snorted "No."

Lothar groaned " C'mon man, I’m bored here. Throw me a bone."

He blinked "... Are you serious?"

Lothar pulled a half-hearted thumbs up which the man ignored.

"Bastard." Lothar mumbled. He looked up and saw the bump beneath his pillow, his eyes immediately focused on the boring floor.

"Viking man… Can you tell me what the date is today?"

"What?" grated back the Viking.

Lothar felt the man's glare before he saw it.

"I said can you tell me–"

"I know what you said. Why did you call me 'Viking'? What is that?"

Lothar bit back a snarky comeback, he'd be a dead fool walking if he ignored the look of genuine anger on the man's face.

"You're pulling my leg? Who doesn't know about Vikings in this day and age?"

"Just answer!" He jumped back at the sudden outburst.

"They're an old people of barbarian warriors, man... Your beard and symbolic tats just reminded me of them, chill."

He didn't bring up the scars, however. He's not completely stupid.

The man visibly calmed but did not say anything back, Lothar was about to ask his question a third time when the sound of a loud banging indicated that someone opened the door.

Do they have to slam it open like that every time?

Two new guards walked in, barely glanced at the prisoners cursing them, and stopped in front of the Viking's cell. Lothar's mouth opened and then closed immediately after he saw the glare the Viking guy shot him. One handcuffed him and yanked him up while the other locked the door behind him.

Lothar stared at their backs as they walked away, the Viking man's voice trailing behind.

"It's the third of July, 2220. You already forgot, new guy?"

.....