The Other Side of the Wall

I cannot remember where I am. All that registers is that it is cold in this room, and dark too. There is almost no light, except for a crack of gold at the bottom of the door in front of me. It is at least 20 feet away. That is the first thing I see when I wake up.

I am on a springy bed, the kind that creaks whenever you shift your weight. There is a mattress, then me, then a threadbare blanket. It smells like mold. The bed sits right next to a wall. When I reach over, dubiously, to touch it, it scratches my hand. The bed screeches in protest of movement, and I quickly freeze, afraid that someone will hear.

Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at the door. It looks heavy. There is a grate over it, but there are no windows to see out of. I can hear though. I hear distant footsteps, and murmuring. But the voices are not clear enough in order for me to tell who they are.

I suddenly grow tired, and my eyelids begin to close.

The End

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