You are who you are, always writing in the second person, trying your best, as anyone can, to continue in an interesting vein the previous segment of the tale.

You find yourself in a cliche, awakening into a locked room. A bare bulb hangs from the ceiling above the seedy bed in which you lie. An end table supports a shabby looking lamp that, you find, doesn't work. It might be the electricity, or a busted bulb. You click at the remote and a grainy picture appears on the old plastic of the television set. There is no bathroom, only a bucket. A picture painting of a dog chasing a cat is hung on the wall above the TV. There is no bathroom, only a bucket. A chair nestles in a corner and is the most comfortable looking thing in this room.  You know there is a way out!

The End

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