Down The Hall, Through The Door
Jay was stuck in a dream and had been for some time.
Months.
Years.
Ever since the accident.
His last memory was of glass: shattered, suspended – blown like sand on a windy beach.
Mister Sandman, bring me a dream.
The song echoed in the hallway, a roaming, relic memory. As Jay followed, he heard a lifetime of sounds through the doors to left and right.
A church organ.
Clapping.
Children laughing.
Someone crying.
The organ again. A slow dirge.
And an eternity of silence.
The doors were always locked – but someday one would open and he would step through.
Hard to believe another week has come and gone, but the Friday Fictioneers don’t lie! This is my response to this week’s prompt, which was yon photo there at the top of the page. (I tried something different with the format, which I don’t normally do in a prose piece, but I hope you can dig it).
Lay your comments on me in the convenient comment repository below. A happy weekend to all!
pinionpost 
Very nice Brian
intriguing. Something tells me this isn’t a dream, but if it’s purgatory then there are worse kinds! and the format worked (for me) in the context of the piece.
Very cool!
Nicely written it touched me. I have a friend who has been in a coma for about 4 or 5 months. She was taken off life support but continued to breath on her own and she hears. But can’t respond. It’s sad.