words #1

Morning? I wasn't sure. The thick red velveteen curtains blocked any light that might help me judge the time. I was lying on a carpeted floor, surrounded by mugs, bottles, cans, cigarette boxes, newspapers, rizla papers, clothes, and an overflowing ashtray; the small square table to my right was covered by more of the same. As my eyes adjusted to the lack of light I started to see more - a bookcase with maybe four or five books and a cat ornament, a television on the floor, a couple of posters on the walls, a broken chair. I didn't recognise anything except the chrome lighter on the table, which I picked up and sparked into flame, yes it was mine. Taking a cigarette from a box, I lit it and got to my feet, I almost fell straight back down but managed to steady myself enough to trip towards the window; pulling back on the unusually heavy curtains, the light seared the back of my eyes and made me turn my head sharply. When I forced myself to look I realised that I was quite high up, maybe four floors. The scene below was totally alien to me, a chilly helpless feeling engulfed me but had to look again - no, nothing, no idea where I was. Sitting back down on the floor I tried to work out what to do, tried to remember what happened last night, but again - nothing. After another cigarette of worrying I finally decided to sit and wait, convinced something very soon would happen to put things in perspective.