Finally, the comfort feeling of home triggered Sharmaine's senses to hurry to the room and lay on her bed. She sighed as she was trying to ease her back pain. The whole day was still such a blur because of her fantasies, but she managed without being caught by her boss.
A few hours had passed when Sharmaine woke up in a dark room with cold and lifeless entities. She groaned and stretched her back. She wobbly paced the room towards the switch. When the room was as bright as day, she paused and stared into the particles floating, then to her outfit.
She had yet to realize that she still wore her office wear, being temporarily confused, she wandered outside her room towards the faintly-lighted hallway. She paced slowly like a zombie wandering its territory with no prey to catch. She turned to the darkest aisle and entered it, not knowing nor caring what could happen.
She stopped at the fifth door and turned the knob. The door surprisingly opened smoothly, so she went inside and closed it gently. The room was even brighter than the sun. What's more is that it looked exactly like her room. The bed, the placement of the books, the furniture around the vicinity, and even the whole bathroom interior. It was like an exact replica of what she had.
"Could this be a dream?" she whispered to herself and paced the room towards her bed. She noticed the floor creaking, which did not exist before, so she was slightly confused. When she got to the last plank beside her bed, the wood cracked and burst open.
Her foot was burried into the hollow plank, and seeing the blood that dripped form her ankles, she felt the gradually returning pain, which surely woke her up. Her heart raced and she tried to pull her foot even though it hurt because of her wounds and the wood scratching the fresh wounds.
When she did, she stood and looked around the room one more time. She was amazed and thought if this was really her room. She crouched down and examined the floor, thinking that maybe she could patch it up and quietly return to her room.
She reached for the pieces, surprisingly, she felt a felt-like texture underneath the debris. When she pulled it out, she examined it carefully.
"Huh? Another book? Journal?" She placed it on the side and examined the floor, where she came to the conclusion that the wood was not suitable for any further patchwork as it had been completely shattered or destroyed.
She sighed. "I hope no one uses this room." There was nothing she could do but pray for her safety. Her mother might get angry, but she was never guilty of anything since she thought that it was their fault for not maintaining the house properly.
The wound tingled. "I might not be able to walk out here without any traces. I hope there's a first-aid kit in the cabinets."
Luckily, she found an intact and seemingly new first-aid kit, so she proceeded to the bathroom with her book to wash the wound and carefully tend it. Next, she removed any visible traces of her blood then sat down on the bed and flicked the pages.
To her surprise, it seemed like another journal—much like the one she lost before. The paper was getting fragile and the ink seemed to be fading away.
"Goodness, why does this family like keeping old journals anyways?"
She noticed the pink bookmark, so she flipped the pages and started reading there. As she read the text, all of her previous suspicions came to an immediate reality. She flipped the pages way back, her heart racing and a tear falling on the glass-like paper.