I’m awake before I realize I’ve been asleep. Darkness more powerful than my eyes surrounds me. I blink . . . I think. It’s difficult to tell where I end and the darkness begins. My head swims and I squint harder. There’s no grayness or fuzzy shapes to anchor my vision, just this solid lack of light pressing me to the bed.
I’m lying on a bed, naked. I can feel the rough sheets on the skin of my back. Ugh, the scratchiness of low thread count is as much torture as the ocean of black drowning me.
And I am drowning, slowly, by increments. Each breath pulls more of the thickness into my lungs. Tissues constrict and swell. I can’t breathe! There can’t be oxygen in air, yet my suffering goes on and on and on . . .
Whimpering echoes in the dark, in my head.
Where am I!
I don’t know this place. I need light. I need air. I need—
Clawing at my throat and coughing, I roll to my side. The cover tangles my body and I kick free. Cold air slaps me as I fall over the edge of the bed and land on my hands and knees with a low groan. The floor is hard. It abuses my bare skin. Already I feel tender points where bruises will bloom.
Ignoring the pain, I crawl, scrambling, searching with one hand out for anything—a night stand, a lamp, a chair. My hand bumps a wall. My fingers jam and I hiss in pain, jerking my hand back. Tears sting my eyes. For some reason I resist crying out. It’s important to be silent. I don’t know why. Just like I don’t know where I am.
Or who I am.
Sitting up, I rock back on my hunches and hug myself, shaking.
Who am I?
Just a little something I’ve been working on here and there. Will probably finish it late in 2014 after I have Queen 2 and FA published. This one is a very claustrophobic, 1st person, psychological thriller/mystery ala Hitchcock.