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A memory of a dream, approximate age 11-12: I was descending through a house that wasn’t quite the right shape or size. It was a collage of rooms and hallways, a house but not really a home. I felt like I was being hurried along or pursued by something whose face I never saw. Always in these dreams I need to keep moving for fear of being caught. There was a long, narrow hallway, pure white with doors plastered all over the walls, floors, and ceiling. I was searching for the “right” door, and as I entered a door on the left (towards the back of the hallway) it led me to the next room. Each room was another room of doors. I was searching for a RED door, as this is always the safe exit. I never found the red door, but I found one that had blue inside—it was the entrance to a retelling of many dreams I’d had before; I could’ve watched them like an anthology on tape, but I woke up before I could do so.