The sunset cast an eerie glow on the apple tree, which stood resolute in the backyard of a house that didn't belong to me. Beneath its branches, I found a journal, its pages unwritten yet heavy with the scent of knowledge never sought. Was it mine or someone else's story I never got to read?

A train whistle echoed through the fog, a melody of solitude and urgency. I remembered being on the train once, the rhythmic clatter soothing my doubts. But the memory felt borrowed, implanted in dreams I couldn't recall vividly. Whose destination was I heading towards?

In the labyrinthine corridors of a forgotten school, a voice called out my name. There were faces, familiar yet strange, offering unknown choices that hummed with significance. I awoke, their meanings elusive, entangled in spectral strings woven through the ether of sleep.