Imagine waking up in the middle of the night from one of those dreams that makes the bottom drop out of your stomach. You note the time, too early to be awake, and begin to wonder what could have caused you to stir. Through the window, you see nothing but a black sky. It is a moonless night. You note the time again. Curious that the clock hasn’t moved. You would have guessed you were up for a few minutes at least.

Then you notice—each time you close your eyes (and you close them for longer and longer each time)—even though you can feel time moving, could hear, smell, and taste the world changing around you. Then how could it be that when you open them you see the hands on the clock are in the same position as they were before?

So you close them again, and open them to find the clock still frozen. Then you close them and take a step out of your bed. With your hand outstretched, bumping against the bedside table, tracing along the wall, you make your way across the room until you feel the light switch. You turn the light on and open your eyes. But all you see is pitch black and, somehow, you are lying down in your bed again. Again and again you try, but all you see when you open your eyes is the night.

How long would it take you to realize that the situation was hopeless? How many failures would you need to suffer before the feeling of despondence came to paralyze you? And—as the paralytic slinks its way down from your brain, tickling coldly along your spine—do you have the strength to continue struggling?

Would you still try to escape?

Begin.