Wander

//Entry 1//

Entry 1

I don't write a lot about myself, it seems.

The previous pages of this book are mostly blank, and the little bit that I have written down doesn't have much weight or importance. They aren't of any significance. They neither help me nor aid me in the slightest of ways. And, now, I sit here wishing I had written items of importance other than "Wander" inside the cover of the leather bound journal.

So, from this moment onward, anything and everything of importance shall be written down in the most excruciating amount of detail possible.

I awoke a few minutes ago - god knows where. I'm in a small room, with nothing but an elaborate candelabra burning low upon a table at the far end of the room. It took me a few minutes to try collecting my thoughts, and, as I sit here, I still have trouble collecting them fully.

It's almost as if a fog has invaded my mind. As I try to reach out and grab hold of a thought or memory, it slips through my grasp and blends back with the thick haze that is making me find it hard to think. I seem to be fine physically - no bumps, bruises, cuts, or scrapes to be found. How could this be possible? I'm hoping that if I sit here a few more moments - or minutes, or hours - time does not feel as if it is flowing properly for some reason, like a stream that becomes blocked by a landslide attempting to rush through the gap all at once - that the haze will clear.

I'm going to try to collect my thoughts before doing anything. Maybe I missed something in this journal - which appears to be mine - for as I write this, the pen strokes are mirror images of the other entries. I shall try to make sense of this problem before moving on.

~

I'm beginning to grow frustrated and agitated. Answers to questions that are too complex to transcribe dance at the very edge of my grasp, as if they were taunting me.

I still can't seem to remember anything at all.

I grow weary as I write this. The wooden door, whose grains I have memorized in the time spent pondering my current predicament, has not yielded results. If there are answers to be found in the grain, then even they elude me.

Sitting here has made me achieve nothing. I am in no different position than how I was when I awoke, except that my eyelids are getting harder and harder to keep open. I must note however, that I don't seem to have gotten any thirstier and or hungrier, yet my fatigue has increased at a tremendous rate.

I am doing no good sitting here.

I have concluded that I will search for more answers after I take a quick rest. Maybe after that, I will come to realize that this is all a horrible dream, a nightmare, something to awake from with sweat covering my body, as I try to gulp down precious air to calm my overactive imagination down. Something that plays tricks on my mind with stray shadows and odd noises.

The events that have happened so far give me very little reassurance that this is just a simple nightmare.