Work Text:
A long hallway stretched in front of him. Seemingly never ending. The blinding yellow wallpaper was already old and even falling off in some spaces, the glue that had been used decades ago to put it up had already begun to become utterly useless. The musty carpet was made up of shapes and colors one couldn’t put together, without it straining your eyes to look at for longer than a few seconds. It was quiet. Only the ringing in his ears was filling the silence in his head. Sweat was building up right on the nape of his neck as well as right under his eye bags. He wipes his wet forehead in an attempt to put his arms somewhere without it feeling awkward. There was nothing to sit on, so he just stood there, waiting in front of what he hoped was the right door. All the doors in this hallway looking the same did not help to soothe him in any way. He couldn’t even lean on the wall, for he feared the thin walls would just let him fall through if he dared to relax some of his body weight against the possibly moldy yellow wall. He was moving his weight from foot to foot nervously. He could hear a sticky sound each time, with a small shudder he realized it was probably because there was no way to know when this obnoxious carpet had last been cleaned due to its terrible design. And if the condition of the rusty door handle on the wooden door was anything to go by, it had probably been decades. He could swear the pattern of the carpet was changed every time he looked back at it. Could a hallway continue until infinity, because this one sure seemed to do just that. Why was he here, especially alone? For how long…has he been here? He tried to think. Thinking seemed..hard. Everything felt familiar and he could swear he had been here before. But it didn’t feel right. His mind stops reeling. And then, almost as if it were instinct, he looks down at his right hand.
Seven blurry fingers look back at him. Of course.
Phoenix Wright wakes up. A sigh leaves his lips as he sits up on his bed. He stretches a bit and lets reality wash over him. Why are his dreams always so fucking weird?
Whatever. He looks over to his bedside table and flips open his phone that is barely held together by some tape. The screen lights up. 5AM. Not too bad.
He gets up from his bed with a yawn and drags his feet as he forces himself to go to the bathroom. He looks at himself in the mirror. Wow. He looks tired. Another sigh.
Just another day then. Phoenix thinks dryly. Already feeling a headache coming.
„Maybe I should stop drinking grape juice before going to sleep…“