Sometimes Corey lies awake in his dreams and stalks the fear that hounds him. Follows it around dark alley dumpsters, sliding on the oil-slick concrete. He stands to see the door. And he opens it, steps inside. A rush of calm engulfs him. It is just a moment or two before he turns around and around again, but there is no door. He forces himself to wake. His mind clouded with confusion, his eyes try to focus on the amber light waves spewing from the corner of the room. He backs away. He climbs the walls. Crouching on the ceiling he sees below, into the light.

Trying to back himself into the ceiling and slip through somehow. Corey reaches his head into the brick, is pulled through, slipping up. Now he is surrounded by nothing, the constricting force of total emptyness slithering all around him. Goodbye Corey.