My eyes snapped open and I felt the absence of time spent while asleep. I groaned and rubbed my eyes, remembering the fleeting images of a brief dream. I felt terrible. Looking down I noticed my shoes: brown oxfords with a little scuff. I frowned, finding it somewhat unusual that I would have woken up in bed with a pair of dress shoes on. I blinked some more and patted my hands on the hardwood floor before determining that something was, indeed, strange.
I slowly stood up. My head hurt less, but I still felt groggy and unstable. I walked over to the bed and sat down. From where I sat I could see little dust particles floating around in the sunlight coming from a window adjacent to me. It was a small window set into a wall made of wood panels which was- I assumed- why the whole place smelled like cedar. The fold up table next to me was covered in clutter. Most of it junk- pieces of tissue, plastic wrapping, an empty glass bottle and a strip of elastic bandage. There was also a ring of keys and two books- one titled The Holy Bible and another called The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe. I flipped through each of the books but there was nothing to indicate either were special or nostalgic to me in any way.
At the end of the bed there was a backpack. Inside was a button-down shirt and a T-shirt, two pairs of socks, a pair of briefs, a box of matches, some sort of case and an empty water bottle. I rifled through these things without really thinking. I tossed the bag aside and closed my eyes, unsure of what I was searching for. All I knew was I needed answers, but I did not know what questions I needed answering.
As I was pacing, searching for my answer somewhere between the wooden walls, I stepped on something that crunched loudly under my feet. I lifted my foot and underneath was broken glass, plastic and a needle. I frowned as I crouched down to inspect the damage object. A fuzzy image flashed in my head- a gloved hand piercing the undamaged object into someone’s flesh. I picked up a piece of glass carefully with my fingers and inspected it, knowing now that something was very wrong.
I searched frantically then, knowing I had forgotten something, the syringe being proof. I racked my brain. As I did so I realized I really couldn’t remember anything. I couldn’t remember how I got there or when or why I was in the tiny cabin to begin with. All I knew was that my head hurt and a million mysteries surrounded me. I threw a flower embroidered pillow aside and after that the sheets and quilts. Nothing. Nothing seemed to resurface to aid me in my confusion.