Rusted doors creak open.
The smell of grass and fresh water fills your senses.
Above you lies a massive, gnarled tree.
Though there's no open sky, the leaves rustle gently in a phantasmic breeze.
You inhale, the scent of a strange pollen clinging to your lungs.
It smells warm, like Summer, but somehow you know that's not right.
You step closer, grass bending beneath your sneakers.
And then it hits you: despite how bright it is, you know you're inside. You know it's night time.
And when you peer skyward, you see it: the moon, full and beautifully golden.
Your wrist itches, but when you go to scratch it, something blocks your nails.
A paper tag, with your first and last name, date of birth, and...
How fertile of a species you are.
You swallow roughly and look around and though there's nobody there, you feel eyes on you from all angles.
Your fingers tremble as you try to take off the tag but you can't.
You signed a waiver, it's all coming back to you now.
You stare down at your paper hospital gown and feel a chill run down your spine, a cool bead of sweat making you quiver.
Somehow, you know you asked for this...