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[The smallness is worse than the smell. Nathan doesn't particularly like the smell of old blood, but the smallness makes him feel trapped in more than just a physical sense. He isn't a lucid dreamer, usually--doesn't know that it's a dream. What he does know is that this is some kind of hell.
Did he kill someone? He should remember, shouldn't he?
The teenager gets up, needing to pace or something, and slips on the blood. This isn't the kind of blood he usually daydreams about. That blood is warm and alive; this is cold and dead and has the consistency of snot mixed with freshly-chewed bubblegum. As soon as he gains his footing, he feels around for the nearest wall. For a lack of anything more constructive to do, he gives it a few punches that, naturally, do more damage to him than the wall.
Nathan never really thought of himself as claustrophobic before, but he may need to reevaluate his opinion. Panic begins to build, slowly at first, rapidly swelling into full-blown fear. He's scared.]