Just like that. First there is a crummy door-prize of a key on my bedside table, then there is nothing. I sit up, staring at the place where the key was. Then I look for the card.
Perhaps there are other, better things I could have done. I could have checked my bedside table for trapdoors. I could have redialed that number and demanded a replacement key. I could have forgotten about it and prepared to wake up again. But I didn't. I looked for the card. If I couldn't be the King of the World or the Lord of the Winds, I wanted to at least be the Other One. If I wasn't, I was just a person, and I didn't want to be one out of five-billion. I'd like to be someone.
I couldn't quite remember where I'd put the card, and, as those things go, it wasn't until after ten minutes of searching that I realized I was still holding it. I was a bit relieved that it hadn't disappeared along with the key, though it didn't really make up to the previous insanities of the day.
But then, a strange thing happened. When I turned the card over, it didn't say "For the Other One" as it had earlier. I should have known--nothing made sense in this dream. No, now it said something completely different: "For The Key Keeper." In addition, there was an arrow pointing up. I suddenly felt like that one character in a horror movie that gets picked off early--the one poor sap who only serves of an example of what the main party causing the aforementioned "horror" can do. Dreading what I would see, I slowly glanced up to see... nothing.
I frowned, angry at this dream for tricking me again. When was I going to wake up, anyways? Was I in a coma or something. Glaring frustratedly down at my one souvenir, the card, I had an unmistakable urge to smash something. And so I did.
A good half-hour later, with my alarm clock thoroughly destroyed, I was still glaring at the card. And that was when it occurred to me: the arrow wasn't pointing up. Being two-dimensional, that was the paper's attempt to direct me to the back of the card. Feeling sheepish, I turned it over.
And it was two letters--only two of them, no more--that filled me with dread. Normally two letters wouldn't fill me with dread--two letters formed many useful words such as "it," "to," and "me." But this was none of those combinations of two letters, nay, this one was much more forboding. For these two letters signaled that this ridiculous nightmare wasn't over, and these two letters were: P.S.