Picked On
Clinton's sleep was anything but restful. His body lay still, but his mind was a battlefield of unresolved trauma and haunting memories. He tossed and turned, his face twisted in distress.
In his dream, Clinton was back at the hospital, the place where his fears had taken root. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled his nostrils, and the harsh fluorescent lights cast eerie shadows on the walls. He walked down the endless corridors, each door he passed leading to another room filled with his deepest fears.
He could hear Paige's voice calling out to him, but he couldn't find her. The more he searched, the more the hospital seemed to twist and turn, becoming a labyrinth with no exit. His heart pounded in his chest, the anxiety building with every step.