I've become kinda obsessed with it. I started a short story from the dream. Here's the first paragraph:It was the red door that changed everything, just an inconspicuous door in a forgotten back alley. An alley she had hoped would lead out onto a main street, but unfortunately dead-ended. Such is the way of learning how to live in a new place. She had even gone passed the door once in hopes the alley turned. No such luck. So it was on the way back that she really stopped to look at it. The sunset cast a golden glow over everything, what photographers sought in the “golden moment” where the illumination is just right. The red door was scratched and scuffed, but not so old to start peeling, in a gothic arch that really set it apart. The doorknob was an ancient piece of hardware, bronze and cast in a swirling pattern of vines, clearly antique and she was surprised a bum hadn’t taken the whole door to be pawned in the first place. Looking around, for it was not a good idea to get too engrossed and forget your surroundings especially as a lone young female, she noted that there wasn’t another soul in the alley. (...) She checked her watch; she still had time for a quick peek. With a sense of adventure she hadn’t felt since she was 12, she turned the knob to open the door and stepped inside. It led into a small dimly lit entryway and a second plainer door, serviceable pine, no paint, undecorated doorknob. The light came from translucent paper panes set into the wall, guarding the plain door. The tile was cool through her sandals and was a relief from the heat outside. The air was damp and tasted of water. She closed the red door behind her to preserve the moisture and to keep things looking ordinary. It wouldn’t do to look suspicious. She opened the simple wood door and was struck speechless with wonder.
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