Alone. White walls. Alone. White floor. Alone. White ceiling. ALONE! Where am I.
Alone. The park was empty, apart from a few scraggly dead trees warped by time, me being the only person there. A dark fog had crawled slowly grasping at my feet trying to drag me into the bowels of hell itself. Nothing stirred, not a sound was made other than the slow scream of the rusting swing swinging it's ominous swish accompanied by a orchestra of screeching violins.
Wait! Over there. By that tall mangled tree. It's a man tall and thin. I can't see his features. Black hat: a bowler hat, I think. Black suit, black gloves and wait he's holding something. I can't see what it is. I need a closer look. I move towards him he shows no sign of response to my action. I don't like this. He has evil about him. Wait! His hand is coming up. I can see what it is. No! This can't be right.
White walls. Alone. Wait haven't I done this before. I know where I am. My arms won't move; they are stuck to my sides. I am restrained by these buckles! White walls, white floor. I'm on the floor, white ceiling, White door, but there's a window. NO! Is that him? From the park? There he is in the window. What is he doing out there? Why do I recognise him? Where is he from?
