The smell of the wilting flowers have awaken my lethargic soul. Still, I do not open my eyes. It was too cold. I can barely breathe. The chilly air is getting through my skin, giving me shivers rushing down my spine. I slowly lift my index finger, then back. That one move has made me feel like I’ve been paralyzed for a hundred years. Paralyzed? I’m in a state of lassitude. An unknown reason of fear has put my heart to throb. My breathing abated. Where am I? I tried to open my eyes and it was too bright. I suddenly shut them. But I don’t want my sight to be governed by darkness so I forcely opened my eyes not minding even if the lucent light would hurt. After a few seconds of blinking, I’ve finally withdrawn my vision. I cannot writhe, so I discern the surroundings without moving my body but my head. The walls are painted white. There’s a big glass window on my right side, letting the four corners of this room be bathed into the daylight. The room is huge, looking almost empty. It is not fancy, but too tidy. A table beside the door on my left has caught my attention. It has a bouquet of yellow flowers on it. It is where the smell came from. I looked up at the ceiling, blankly. I know now where I am. But I don’t know why I am here. Where are they? I’m all alone. Woebegone.
The temperature of the room, the smell of the wilting flowers and the deafening silence are soporific. I close my eyes.. Then sleep has devoured me. Again.
➡ To be continued.