He usually remembered his dreams. Not this time, though. He felt as if he had slept for many, many days, and yet, he couldn’t remember a single thing his subconsciousness had produced over that time. Strange.
Oh, wait! There was this thing... People were chasing him around the village with pitchforks, they were angry, he was running away, but he couldn’t run, classic dream problems!, they caught him, everything went even more blurry... Nah, whatever, just another dream.
This ceiling looks strange, doesn’t it?, he realised. Where the fuck am I?