A/N - Credit to my good friend Katelyn who had the dream that inspired this story. This doesn't really get into the plot, but oh well...more to come.

Disclaimer - I don't own the characters only their thoughts and actions.

Prologue

You are walking. Something you had taken for granted for eighteen years of your life. But you know you would never view the simple, yet often unappreciated, skill the same way. You used to run when you wanted to clear your head, forget what was going on in your life, escape from everything. Now you walked.

You almost liked walking better. You hated it at first; running away from your problems was what you did best, when you could run, but walking was much preferred over the alternative. You had been out of the chair for almost a month and though rehab had been a bitch, you still thank God every night that you can even use your legs. You know first-hand of others who are not that lucky.

Tonight, like most nights, you have no destination in mind. It's a mild summer evening; the sunset paints a picturesque mixture of oranges, reds, yellows, pinks, and purples blending together effortlessly as it threatens to dip below the horizon. A picture is worth a thousand words and you wish you had a camera better than the one on your cell phone to capture the image. Though no copy or replication can ever compare to the view of seeing the sunset with your own eyes. It's the actual action of the sun setting that makes the scene so incredible. Any photograph is just a still frame without the capabilities to fully capture the entire essence of the sunset, thus rending it useless.

You briefly wonder if your life is like watching the sunset or merely seeing a picture of it. You seem to lean towards the latter. Watching the sunset, like any good moment in time, is best when you have someone to share it with. You haven't had anyone to share your moments with in a while.

Your mind always wanders when you go for your walk at night. Your feet, like your mind, meanderer aimlessly through the streets of Lima. Once it gets too dark to see, you must rely on the fireflies (or streetlamps if you don't stray off the beaten track, which doesn't happen often) to guide you back home. It's not that time yet, you're guessing you have at least another 30 minutes. When you take your eyes off the ground, you see that you have walked all the way to an abandoned warehouse, a good five miles from your house.

Your gut instinct says you should turn around and go home. Now that you know where you are, you know it will take at least an hour if not more to get back. Not that you have a problem with walking after dark, but there's always something about the abandoned warehouses and foreclosed houses on this side of town that has given you the creeps. Although everything in your brain is screaming for you to head home, your feet don't listen and make their way across the weed-filled parking lot towards what looks like the front door.

When you reach the door, you hope that it's locked because clearly the nerve signals from your brain to your feet are just not working. You see there is a broken chain hanging loosely around the handles that has clearly been cut. Your hand reaches out and pulls the door open, blinding you with fluorescent light.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and for now your body and brain are on the same page. You step inside the building, squinting as the brightness in this open room is complete contrast to the darkening sky outside. You've never been inside the warehouse before, though Puck dared you and Santana to go in once freshmen year. When you told him you'd only go in if he went with the two of you, he mysterious thought the idea was lame and let you off the hook. You all agreed never to mention the incident again as it would bring down Puck and Santana's bad-ass persona and you had a reputation to maintain as a fearless bitch.

You smile to yourself thinking about how much things have changed since then, how much you have changed. You move across the large room, white walls, white ceiling, white floor…if it weren't for the occasion crack in the painted concrete you are walking on, you would have no clue if you were even moving. The room seems endless, the walls seem to go on forever, and there doesn't seem to be anywhere to go besides out the same way you came in. You see a flicker of darkness straight ahead of you; apparently your body already knew the right direction to head towards.

You briefly wonder who is paying the electricity bill on this building. Surely with no one working here it is a waste of money and as far as you know the plant has been out of business for over ten years. It's that thought along with the pristine whiteness and simplicity of the room (is it even really a room, maybe chamber would be a better term) that halts you just outside the first door you've come upon.

You can see now that there is a window embedded in the door and through the glass you see the flickering of a single light bulb. The room on the other side of the door is much smaller, you can see where it ends directly across from you, but the window is too small to give you much of a view to how far the room stretches to the left and right.

This whole scenario seems sketchy and you absentmindedly wonder what Santana will think when you tell her you actually went into the warehouse. But instead of her voice, you hear another brunette's and the thought alone yanks on your heartstring. Don't be stupid Quinn, turn around and go home. You know she is right, but for some reason, probably out of spite, you don't want to listen to her. After all, she never listens to you and look where that go you. Not that you blame her, you never could, and things had been getting better after she called off the wedding. But she is still engaged, she is still setting her standards too low, dreaming too small. And with that in mind, you put your metaphorical middle finger up at the Rachel Berry in your head and open the door.

To be continued...