When they want me to write something to school...

It was three o’clock in the morning when the phone rang. But there was no answer when I picked it up. Then the alarm clock began to ring. I let it rang, too sleepy to get up from my bed. But the alarm clock was cunning and cruel and long time ago did he decide that no one would stay in bed after hearing its voice. And so he continued ringing. For hours he rang and rang, delighted for listening to itself. Finally I gave up and left the bed. I wasn’t too tired to do so, but it gave me an uneasy feeling that I shouldn’t have done so; perhaps because of a blurred memory of a call early in the morning. If I’d been curios, I might have taken the phone, looked at the display and redial the number. But I didn’t do it. Instead, I walked to the door, decided to follow my daily ritual.

But the door was locked. Confused and still a bit sleepy, I kept trying over and over again, until my mind slowly came to the only logical conclusion.
“The door’s locked.” I said, just to say anything.
And so it was. Sitting on my bed, thinking the whole problem over, I suddenly recalled another blurred memory in which I was locking the door while whistling my favourite song. It took a lot of effort but I finally remembered where to look for the key. And so I did. Then, with both the key and a victorious grin, I reached the door again and unlocked it.

A desert greeted me with all its hotness and sweat. I could almost feel the sand trying to erode me. I quickly closed the door and locked it. After a while, I put the key back in the keyhole and opened the door. I saw a club, full of people, with artificial smoke in the air and I could hear the most unpleasant version of music (that is the one which even on the friendly volume would push your brain cells out of your skull through your nose). The door banged close. On the third attempt I appeared to be looking at a bunch of people sitting in a room with their notebooks open and their eyes fixed upon a smart looking person who was just lecturing them about some deadline or something. But before I could find any reasonable explanation, the man who was talking suddenly came to my door.
“This class isn’t over yet.” And with that he disappeared behind the closing door.
Although feeling slightly depressed, I kept on searching for my reality.

Then finally, after a long period of time, there was a room full of books. I took one with me and went back to bed, trying not to think about anything absurd. Just in case I fell asleep while reading.