I sat in that warehouse on the wet concrete slab for hours waiting for a hint of rescue.
Nothing. I realized nobody was coming to my aid.
The first night I couldn't fall asleep easily. It's rather hard to fall asleep when you are having a three way conversation with Nelson Mandela and Martin Luther King about minority rights (something I'd become mildly obsessed with). Either I was delusionally tired or much more concussed that I thought. Regardless of a possible TBI, the delusions were the best thing that could have happened to me that night. They allowed me to be in a happy place, and I had a feeling that I wouldn't get be this fortunate in the upcoming weeks.
Days passed. Nobody came for me. I was slowly withering away from dehydration. I had come to terms with my own death.
On the fifth day of my "solitary confinement" my predicament changed. I heard a door open and the sound of dress shoes, *Click clack, click clack, click clack*...