There are four things that I know for sure.
I do not know who I am.
I do not know where I am.
I do not know how I got here or why but judging by the bruising it was not voluntary.
I cannot leave.
The door has been locked from the outside and there are no keys anywhere in the room. I’ve searched every nook and cranny twice over and there is no trace of a key, no scrap of evidence to explain where I am. No possible piece of identification.
The curtains open out to a brick wall. There is a small gap that I could possibly fit through but the window is locked.
The heating clicked on over an ago but that is the only evidence that there is someone else in this building. There’s been no movement outside and the carpet is so thick that I doubt I would hear anyone pass by the door. The corridor outside my door is dark; I switched off the light just to see.
Being in the dark with no memory of who you are or where you are is horrifyingly isolating. All of the lights and lamps are now on so there are no dark corners.
There is no mirror in the room so I only have the distorted reflection in the window. It tells me what I look like but it means nothing to me. Like looking at a portrait of a distant relative the features are barely recognisable. I do not recognise my own face.
I have closed the curtains.
The bed is the only comfort I have. The mattress is squishy and the pillows nicely fluffed.
I stay in the bed because there is nowhere else to sit in the room.
Hours and hours have passed but nothing has happened.
I know five things for certain.
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