I open my eyes, but it’s still dark. I think that perhaps I have forgotten how to operate my eyelids and bring my hands up to my face. My eyes are, as I had thought, indeed open.
The thought occurs to me that I must have gone spontaneously blind. Panic rips through me until I consider the possibility that perhaps I am merely in a dark room.
Reassured, I become aware of discomfort in my body. A rough stone floor cuts into my back, so I sit up. Now the floor cuts into my arse, so I stand up.
I hear dripping. I throw my arms out in front of me and shuffle slowly, carefully forward, with the utmost caution. Somehow, I still manage to stub my toe on what, after further touch-inspection, transpires to be a toilet of some kind.
My hands feel a wall in front of me. It’s dank; not in a weed way, like the original meaning. Cold and wet. And slimy. It occurs to me that the word ‘slimy’ is the same as ‘cold and wet’.
I can taste the dampness of the room. I start to shiver; it seems like the room is getting colder.
I hear voices shouting, far away. I can’t understand what they’re saying.
I lean backwards against the wall, which is further behind me than I thought. I gasp as my back and head slam into the rock.
I slide to the ground.
I don’t know where I am.