You are here where an alarm clock has been making a commotion for some time now beckoning you somewhere that you are already heading and meant for someone that you are already becoming.
You are here in a plain bedroom. There is a dresser with a mirror, a nightstand with a lamp next to the clock, and a bed upon which you have apparently been sleeping. Memories of what came before are already flitting away from you:
someone… wearing a tie?
a piece of paper you used as a map?
But you cannot remember arriving here nor where here even is. You glance around the room halfheartedly looking for a map that might confirm your vague memory, but there is nothing else here. You try to think of other things, any other things, but only an overwhelming and pervasive darkness comes to mind.
You wonder if you are alone here. It is quiet but maybe others are sleeping. Or waiting. You stand up and happen to catch sight of yourself in the mirror.
Yes, that’s you alright.
Interestingly, you find that recognizing yourself doesn’t help you to remember much of anything else. Gazing at this face that is trivially yours, you wonder how this came to be. Step-by-step, one moment leading to the next, of course. And yet it all seems so utterly mysterious.
You wonder how it is possible that this room can be completely unfamiliar to you. You try to remember entering the house, entering the room, going to sleep in the bed, but you cannot envision any of these things.
Perhaps looking around will help you to recall something. One single memory might be enough to remove all confusion. But perhaps you did not come here of your own free will? Perhaps you were unconscious or asleep? Yes, perhaps. But you certainly do not feel like a hostage at the moment. Anyway, a look around is at least someplace to start.
But you do not move. You wonder about the person with the tie whose face you cannot recall. You wonder about the map the form and structure of which is increasingly replaced by an all-encompassing blackness. You wonder if these images presently holding your mind captive are obscure elements of a poignant dream interrupted by the alarm or the fleeting memories of actual events.
You do not wonder for long, however, because there is now someone knocking at a door of the house.