I have been fiddling with a very ordinary doorknob for a long time, but I have never opened the door. A rush of hot blood instantly surged into my brain, and just as I turned to run to the window, my leg tripped over something, and with a "pop", the whole person fell to the floor.

It was amazing how clear my thoughts were before I threw myself to the ground—my mind went blank at first, then pleading, helpless, and panic flashed out one by one, just for a moment, but it felt like I was watching a high-speed video replay.

It reminds me of the old days when someone tripped on the basketball court when I was dribbling and was stretching my foot, and it was the same feeling as it was now. I can't help but curse in my heart: This dream is too real, just like someone said in a sketch "The real opens the door to the real, and the real is home".

I endured the pain in my heart, slowly got up by leaning on the palms of the two wooden hands, patted my clothes habitually, and was angry in my heart, glaring at the stool that had fallen to the ground, which really responded to Liu Sanbian's sentence "I was speechless and choked".

After a while, he turned around and continued to walk towards the window, and by the flash of lightning, there was still nothing outside the window that could startle the spirit, except for the perseverance of the wind and rain, the moody thunder and lightning, and the demented trees.

I groped around the window, looked up and down, left and right, and found that the window couldn't be opened at all, so I picked up my palm, which had turned from wood to pain, and slammed it into the windowpane.

With the sound of "bang", a flash of inspiration flashed in his brain, turned around and rushed to pick up the stool on the ground, rounded his shoulders and smashed it towards the window, "bang, bang, bang......" After a period of operation, I found that the window glass was still intact.

I threw down the bench that had fallen out in my hand, felt dizzy, my legs went weak and almost fell, and I weakly raised my arms to support the cold glass, and my heart was cold.

After a while, he walked over and lay back on the bed. With the twist of the neck machine, my eyes slowly searched around the ward, and found that the room was very small, only a hospital bed, a bedside table, and a wooden stool that I had just scratched the window glass and was now scattered to the ground.

Frustrated, he sighed, "Alas! If only I could get through the walls, at least I could get out of this room. ”

Suddenly, a thought came to me: Yes, you can hit the wall! As soon as I said it, I immediately refreshed myself and slipped out of bed barefoot, the coldness of the floor coming from the soles of my feet, which made it even more refreshing.

I couldn't wait to run to the window, put my body against the glass window, and was about to rush towards the opposite wall, when suddenly there was a thunderous roar like a mountain cracking rock, accompanied by a trembling body, and the sound of "buzzing" was boiling in the ear canal.

After this startle, the coolness under his feet became even more distinct, and he hesitated in his heart, so he forcibly pulled an excuse to prevaricate himself - will I cross over, if that is the case, this head will not be hung up.

In this way, it becomes a matter of course to give up hitting the wall. I lay back in bed again and thought: Did I really cross over? But traveling through time and space doesn't logically work, like the paradox of going back in time to kill Hitler and avoid World War II.

What's more, I came here suddenly, and there is no connection between the front and back, so it seems that it is still a dream. But after such a toss, why can't you wake up?

I held my head in my hands and was puzzled, and suddenly "chuckled" in my heart, and touched my hair carefully repeatedly, yes, it was long, but my hair had been cut short before, why did it become longer again.

Thinking of this, I immediately rolled up the sleeve on my left side, searched and searched on my left arm, looked and looked, but I didn't find the scar that was seven or eight centimeters long and looked like a centipede.

Then he couldn't wait to pull off his shirt, but he saw that the birthmark on his chest was the same, and he slapped himself again like a conditioned reflex. After this slap reminder, I rolled over and jumped out of bed, still running barefoot to the bathroom.

Just as I opened the bathroom door, and before I could figure out how to face it, my heart was filled with loss - there were no mirrors inside. I walked out of the bathroom in a depressed mood, and at this time, another muffled thunder rolled into my ear canal.

I habitually glanced at the window, and immediately ran over to my heart, ignoring the pain in my feet, and blindly kicked aside the pieces of the wooden bench.

The eyes that had been staring at the window finally saw me clearly this time - it turned out that I was still me, but my hair had grown longer, my beard had grown, and I was haggard and vicissitudes.

But he still didn't give up, and once again rolled up his sleeve and looked at his left arm repeatedly, but there was still no signature scar. I wondered if I dreamed of my future - old "him", except for the scar.

At this time, a bold idea came to me - if this is the real world, then I am a real neurosis, and everything in the past is a dream.

Thinking of this, my head "buzzed" as if it was about to crack, and my chest was very stuffy, as if it was being squeezed carefully and tightly by something intangible, and I still had a feeling of difficulty breathing when I was panting.

Exhausted for a moment, he gasped and moved back to bed again, and when the headache subsided, he couldn't help but muttered to himself - if this is true, then why can't I remember anything about this place at all? Am I amnesia? Why did I end up in a psychiatric hospital with amnesia?

After a series of unanswered self-questions, I lay dejected on the bed and let the two pairs of eyelids fight, just as they were about to shake hands.

It suddenly occurred to me that the reason why I didn't wake up after all the masochism I had done before (so I am afraid that the Daigo who gave me the empowerment was 60 percent true, and what an unacceptable fact in a world when innocence was on the verge of innocence) was because the recipient of these actions was a dream body.

And the body outside the dream is not physically stimulated by the dream, so it is impossible to wake up. At this thought, I was once again resurrected with full blood, and in my excitement I hoped that whoever outside my dream would now be able to shake my shoulders and gently call out in the ruestest language, "Get up!" ”

I wouldn't even mind doing a scientific demonstration of action and reaction with his slap and my face. In fact, the person I expected in my heart already knew who was the name and who was at the beginning of my expectation, but I was trying my best to hide that I knew, and the object of the disguise was myself.

It's puzzling, but it's also a subconscious part of the brain's self-preservation.

As many people who don't understand the QJ said, when the cold steel knife was on her neck, her muscles instantly became stiff, not only could she not move her hands and feet, but even her throat could not make any cries for help except for the sound of ho-ho.

Closer to home, why did I know I was dreaming and so rushed to escape?

Suddenly remembered an idiom - Zhuang Zhou Mengdie!