This story is not a thriller. It is not a fantasy novel nor a romance novel. It does not begin with a great war, or a dying mother, or even a leap off of a building. This story actually begins with something extremely simple. In fact, the item that this story is one of the most simple things known to man. It is more simple than the light bulb, though, a tad more complex than a sheet of paper. This mysterious item, is a door. A simple door. A plain door with silver knobs. Plain knobs with a lock on one side. The kind of lock that can be unlocked simply by forcing a toothpick into the circular opening located on the other side of sed lock. And how does this door look? The door is no more special than the knobs located upon it. It is a white door, painted when it's owners decided to 'freshen up their home'. A white door with solver knobs, paint chipping, wood cracking, a door.

And it's these details that Max thinks of as she sits, staring at this door. 'It's just a door', she says quietly,'Why can't I just open it?'

Max has always suffered from insomnia. Sleep has become a rare occurrence in her life. She has never experienced the feel of a dream, for if you do not sleep, you do not dream. And so every night, instead of breathing deeply, fading out of consciousness, entering the stages of REM, Max sits up, and thinks. But tonight is not any regular night.

Max's door locks from the inside, as with any regular door, but as Max tries to open her unlocked door, she finds.. That she can't. She double checks the knob. Beautifully set in the unlocked position. And once again, she begins to turn the knob and.. Nothing. Stuck.