Analyze this

I walked into the lift and press the button to my level. Just as the doors were closing, a girl and another guy walked in. The doors closed and we were on our way. You know how Roald Dahl wrote of the lift in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, where it goes sideways, upwards, and diagonally? Well, it was like that and more. It moved at supersonic speed and refused to stop at where we wanted to. At first I thought it was rather cool because I might get to stop right at my door, like the lifts that lead up to penthouse. But I realized that it wasn’t going to stop.

It was then that I felt someone gripping my right arm. The girl was digging her fingernails right into my flesh, leaving white imprints on my now-clammy skin. Hey woman! I am scared too. The lift moved relentlessly from side to side, plunging from top to bottom in a second. When will it ever stop? We were all screaming, yet somehow we could not hear ourselves against the din our hearts were making in our chests. The guy was gripping the railing tightly, a thin film of perspiration on his upper lip.

Suddenly, it stopped. The interior was dented like a car involved in a car crash, like a tofu that was just hit by a hammer. Miraculously, the doors slide open and it was where the guy wanted to go. Still stunned by the paranormal ride, he stood rooted to the ground. For some reason, we were edging him to get out which in retrospect did not make any sense because we should have gotten out too instead of staying around to suffer the terrible lift ride that, hopefully, might take us to our destinations. It was all very strange. He walked out gingerly, and turned back once to look at us. There we stood, gesturing at him to hurry and be on his way.

The doors closed again and this time the lift was not just going to take us on a ride. Without warning, it plummeted downwards and crashed. I felt the blood beginning to flow back into my right arm. When I turned, I instantly knew she was dead as soon as I saw her.

I sat up straight in bed with my arms flailing above my head. Finally, I have woken up from the nightmare. But I was overcome by a strange compulsion and bit the tip of my third finger off my right hand. I remember staring at the exposed flesh and wondering why it wasn’t spurting blood.

Then I woke up for real, fingertip still attached.

Maybe you can help me analyze this nightmare. I just want a good night sleep.