Inside and Out

He lay in bed, thinking.
There was no describing the consciousness he felt at that point.
The room was dark, with essences of light woven through. He wondered with a sort of longing when the light of the morning would come. The darkness was unpredictable and threatening. Every so often there would come a burst of yellow light. He reasoned it a trick on his eye's part, despite its seemingly real nature. The fear was beginning to grow now, it was gathering momentum. The momentum of walking, walking down a road. He felt restless; his legs were moving uncontrollably, and he wanted to stop. He wanted to know what was around him; there seemed no way of knowing. What were the noises? What were the sights? The room was changing; alternating between reality and a mystery. He knew he was not dreaming. He hoped he was not day-dreaming, as it was the night.
Smiling at the thought soon passed with the people he saw before him. Their faces sped forward with great speed, each with a distinctly anxious expression. Why did they appear to be viewing him with such distaste? Why did they want to avoid him?
He was the only one who should be there. He flung out his arms, waving the faces away as though they were flutterung moths. Their expressions turned to anger, and he felt himself constricted, bound in their hostile attempts of constraint. The fear crept up again, along with cold. Cold and wind of the outside world swept into his room, along with sounds. He stood up with force to rid himself of the delusions - a succesful venture, for there he was again - the place in the street where he had first imagined his room. He didn't understand why, he just knew that he was alone.