Modern Retake on Sleeping Beauty: THE GREAT ESCAPE FROM THE NIGHTMARE DEPARTMENT Part 3

 

👑 THE GREAT ESCAPE FROM THE NIGHTMARE DEPARTMENT

(Or: “I Refuse to Achieve Inner Peace, Thank You Very Much.”)

I had been in the Nightmare Department for exactly fourteen hours, seven minutes, and one traumatic yoga session.
And I’d had enough.

The demon instructor—Greg. Yes, Greg—stood over me with his flaming clipboard.

“Prince Aurelius,” Greg sighed,
“you cannot leave until you successfully complete the ‘Mindfulness Through Screams’ workshop.”

I politely declined by sprinting out the door at full speed.

Behind me, Greg yelled, “WE HAVEN’T EVEN DONE THE SHADOW WORK MODULE!”

I didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded like taxes for the soul.

I charged down a pitch-black corridor that smelled faintly of burnt hope. Eyes blinked from the walls. Whispering shadows tried to give me unsolicited life advice.

“You should journal more,” one hissed.

“No thank you,” I whispered back,
and kneed it in self-defense.

Just when I thought I was lost forever, I heard a familiar sound…
a majestic whinny echoing through the darkness.

“Moonwhisker!” I shouted.
(My horse’s name. Yes. It’s regal. Stay with me.)

He galloped out of a swirling cloud of nightmares looking absolutely done with everything.
Apparently he had escaped his own meditation class by pretending to be allergic to incense.

We locked eyes like two heroes reunited.

He immediately tried to bite me.

Classic Moonwhisker.

“Buddy,” I said, hopping onto his back, “we’re getting out of here and finding the sleeping lady before she joins a knitting circle or something.”

Moonwhisker neighed, which I interpreted as: You got us into this mess. You will carry the guilt for generations.

We sprinted down hallway after hallway, dodging:

• Flying alarm clocks that screamed “WAKE UP AND CHOOSE CHAOS”
  
  

• A nightmare gremlin trying to sell me “motivational fear posters”
  
  

• A demon doing hot yoga and judging my posture
  
  

Finally, we reached the EXIT door.

It was locked.

Of course.

The sign above it read:
“Push With Emotional Maturity.”

I considered crying.
Moonwhisker considered kicking me.

But then I remembered something…
something Greg had yelled during the meditation lecture before I escaped:
“FIND YOUR CENTER!”

So I yelled dramatically into the void,

“I AM A PRINCE!
I DO NOT NEED INNER PEACE!
I NEED DRAMA, DESTINY, AND A MAIDEN WHO UNDERSTANDS FRIES!”

The door swung open so fast it smacked a demon in the face.

Moonwhisker and I bolted through the exit, straight into a burst of pastel dream-light.

I thought we’d land somewhere heroic, like a moonlit meadow or the princess’s bedside.

Instead… we crash-landed into the Dream Institute break room, scattering cloud-doughnuts everywhere.

A floating orb with glasses hovered over me.
It gave a disappointed sigh.

“You again,” it said.
“You princes are always so… theatrical.”

“Where is she?” I demanded, dramatically pointing my sword at the vending machine by mistake.
(Which, to be fair, looked threatening.)

“She’s working,” the orb said, rolling its non-eyes. “Paperwork backlog. Emotional maintenance. Standard burnout-sleep protocol.”

Moonwhisker whinnied aggressively.

“Yes, horse,” the orb replied. “You too have paperwork.”

I gasped.
My horse gasped.
Someone’s donut gasped.

“No,” I whispered. “Not soul paperwork.”

But fate was fate.

And paperwork was paperwork.

And the princess… was somewhere behind one of these glowing doors.

I stood tall, flipped my cape, and said:

“Guide me to her,
so we may escape this bureaucratic madness
and pursue our destiny together!”

The orb blinked.
“Can you fill out this form first?”

Moonwhisker ate the form.

I smiled.
“That counts, right?”

The orb sighed.
“…Fine. Follow me.”

And thus began the next chapter of our adventure—
one prince, one horse, one princess…
and far too many dream office rules.