I wrote this about five years ago for a required writing class at Portland State.

There were sixty four bedrooms to a floor, with four floors. Two hundred and fifty six queen size beds total. Each bedroom was soundproof, as were the hallways leading into the bedrooms. Some mild snoring could be heard from the hallways, as well as some muted conversations, but for the most part the white noise machines sprinkled throughout the building kept everything extremely calm and tranquil. Kuro, an attendant who worked for the naptime hotel, was showing Shiro around. Shiro was an old friend of Kuro’s who somehow never got around to seeing what Kuro did for a living. Now he was here with him, and the explanations kept going and going.

“So, how much are they charging here?” Shino asked.

“Forty bucks for nine hours, twenty for three, ten for one. It all depends on however long you want to sleep for. Boss also offers discounts to those who come here almost every day.”

They passed by a vending machine filled with magnesium soda. Very low sugar, with no caffeine of course. Kuro put a dollar in the machine and started sipping. The drink tasted like ambiguous citrus: some hints of grapefruit and yuzu, with no strong dominating flavors or sensations. The light carbonation added a fizz, but the bubbles were not audible over the white noise machines.

“People come here almost every day? What for?”

“That depends heavily on the person. Some people just like to nap here because the space is extremely comfortable. It’s actually quite impressive how comfortable they’ve managed to make the space. I’ve had people tell me that they can’t dream outside of this space anymore because they’re so used to how cozy they are.”

“And the magnesium soda helps?”

“Usually. If it isn’t strong enough for you, there’s also melatonin and Ambien available if you ask for it. Whatever helps people get to sleep and stay there. We used to let people stay for as long as they wanted, but then some of our guests started abusing the sleep medications, so now we limit it to just nine hours per day.”

A light went on right next to one of the bedrooms and Kuro checked in on it. Some vaporwave music was playing at a low volume, and the person who was once asleep was now sitting on top of her bed.

“Another nightmare?” Kuro asked.

“Yep,” she responded. “The same one as last time and the time before. Getting lost in a maze, waking up here, and then total uncertainty of whether this was reality or not. Every time I got up to check and leave the building, I ended up waking up in this same bed. Hell, the only reason I think I’m not dreaming right now is because you have a friend watching behind you.”

“Oh, that’s just Shiro, don’t mind him,” Kuro said. “He’s shadowing me to see what the average day of a sleep attendant is like. If you would like some confidentiality, we could talk about the dream for fifteen minutes or so with him out of the way.”

“That would be nice. Nice meeting you, Shiro.”

“Nice meeting you,” Shiro said, and stepped outside the small bedroom.

While Kuro conversed with the recursive nightmare dreamer, Shiro wandered the hallways while contemplating the consequences of sleep and dream addiction. She was right, he thought, this place is a bit of a maze. The kind of place that one could reconstruct semi-convincingly within a dream, simple yet convoluted enough to be interesting. When he was on the way back to the hallway he was asked to step into, he met Kuro again.

“That nightmare sounded like one giant side effect of all the sleep drugs that person was probably taking.”

“My job basically consists of bringing people hypnotics and consoling them when they have nightmares. Boss says the only way this place loses money is when our guests feel that they have some sort of problem and then quit napping during the daytime.”

“During the daytime? This is a windowless building and the spot is open twenty four hours a day, seven days a week! Whoever spends too much time here loses their grasp on what day and night even are!”

“That may be true, but we’re all adults here. If someone wants to spend their entire life gambling their life savings away in a Las Vegas casino, they can do it. This place is a bit kinder than that, because at least people are getting some rest, right?”

Another light by another bedroom went off, but this time a different attendant got there before Kuro did. They continued to pace the hallways, walking past snore after snore, a museum of closed rapid eye movement and slowed breathing.

“Tell you what,” Kuro said. “Have you ever had one of these magnesium sodas? They’re not as strong as the pills, and the citrus taste is rather pleasant. I could grab you one, on me. What do you say?”

“Sure,” Shiro replied. “I’ll give it a try. You certainly seem to like them.”

Kuro went up to a vending machine in the corner and returned with a just-opened bottle of fizzy delight. Shiro thanked him for the drink and took his first gulp.

“It’s amazing that you can work here and not feel strange about what you’re doing,” Shiro added.

“Eh, what’s there to feel strange about? People have a need to sleep and dream, and someone someday decided to open up a space where they could do so for pretty much as long as they wanted. It’s just capitalism at work, nothing personal.”

“And you kick people out after nine hours, right?”

“Of course. That’s the policy. Sometimes I’ll slip them a couple of melatonin pills for the road, though. I suspect that some of our most loyal customers return back to their homes to sleep for the night and then return here in the late morning or early afternoon. They get a little bit to eat, and then it’s right back into bed.”

“See, this is wha- *yawn* -what I’m talking about. At some level it must feel like you’re catering to a dangerous addiction.”

“Addiction? Maybe. Dangerous? Hardly. These people are just sleepy.”

Shiro paused. “Would it be okay if I took one of these beds for a spin?”

“Knock yourself out,” Kuro said as he opened the door of an empty bedroom.

Shiro stepped in and laid on the bed, and within minutes he slept. It was a dreamless sleep, and after about thirty minutes he felt ready to get back out there into the world. As he entered the hallway, he noticed that Kuro was nowhere to be seen. Shiro wandered the halls for what seemed like an hour until finally Kuro emerged from one of the bedrooms.

“So, you’re finally up, huh?”

“What do you mean finally? I was there for less than an hour!”

“You were in there for almost eight.”

Shiro paused to see if Kuro was just messing with him, but Kuro’s face seemed sincere, as if he had nothing to gain by pulling a fast one on his friend.

“I think it’s time for me to leave this place,” Shiro said with a hint of worry in his voice.

“Well… are you sure you don’t want to talk about it first?”

“I didn’t have any nightmares, Kuro! I’m just trying to get out of here before this place sucks me into a loop!”

“What’s so terrifying about the prospect of looping here?” Kuro asked.

Shiro didn’t respond. His mind was racing with thoughts about how this building was basically cutting out the middleman and making life for its inhabitants into one giant monotonous crawl of dreams and varying states of consciousness. Kuro registered this, popped into a different hallway, and then came back with another soda.

“Here, drink this– it helps to calm the nerves.”

Shiro stayed silent, but accepted the drink and began to sip.