Spencer opened his eyes, only to immediately regret it. Specks of dirt moved up from his cheek, pressed flat against the road, to his eyes, blinding him. Blinking wildly, tears washed his gray eyes clean.
He was on the lane, a straight line shooting out behind him and fading into whiteness in front of him. Spencer sat up and looked behind him.
The lane was meticulous in its details. The details were precise, exact, and incomplete. It should have been fuzzy and messy, it shouldn’t have made any sense. He watched as the world made itself up behind him. A kitchen with two sinks, blue walls. Or had they been green? No, they were blue here. He believed that. A speech he had made, looking out over his classmates, half paying attention and half pretending to stay awake. Clara was watching him. No, she couldn’t have been. She hadn’t been interested in him. But he remembered it so perfectly, that she had been watching him. Had she lied about her disinterest? Or had he been wrong?
This was what his memories looked like. He couldn’t even believe them now.
Spencer did not want to look back any longer. Standing up, he faced forward into nothingness.
There would be nothing there. He hadn’t made the memories yet.
“Time to wake up, Spencer.”
Spencer took in a breath and stepped forward.