Shrugging the blanket from your shoulders, you sat up. You imagined that perhaps if this were a movie or a show, crickets would be chirping from the window outside, the curtains singing and dancing in the voice of the fan— but instead, there is no sound. No light. No life.

Why did you awaken?

Why did y

To your left was an empty bed. The sheets were neat and undisturbed. You tried to check the time but your phone wouldn’t turn on, and your watch was terrifying blank. You were no where, no when. You are a tragedy.

The room spun and you were on a familiar bed.

Queen-size. Soft. Stained beneath the sheets. Bland and white. The room was dark. “Send help,” you pleaded; no one responded to you, because you didn’t speak. Your teeth were clenched tight. You were not afraid, you were not afraid you were not afraid you are not afraid afraid afraid afraid

You lay back on the pillows, spreading you hair out before you did— it was long and black, crawling down your spine, all the way down. You sunk and you drowned in it all. It was so comforting that it made you sick. A dogmatic urge is carved into your soul. You betrayed it, as you have all else.

Then, the door opened. Its creak was earsplitting. You have heard nothing else in hours. You fought the urge to cover your ears. You felt nothing, but even that is something— voids are large, you know. Black holes swallow galaxies. They are still nothing.

The door’s body in the wall leaves a cast flow of light on the wood panel floor. You sat up again. Your abdomen was a mess of tallies. They felt fresh.

A shadow shattered the window on the floor. You knew who he was. Your nails were blunt and you twisted your slim fingers in a worried gesture; they were so easy to break. Will they shatter someday? I wonder if

You wake up.

Shrugging the blankets from your shoulders, you sit up. You imagine that perhaps if this were a movie or a show, birds would be chirping from the window outside, the curtains singing and dancing in the voice of the fan– but instead, all you can hear are your ragged breaths.

You get up. Shirtless. Tallies on your ribs

You open the door

No one is there.

“I have told you,” you say, and you return to bed.