The Black, Black Room
Hours. Surely hours have passed.
I never slept, just kept my eyes trained on the crack under the door, watching the light fade into orange and purple and black until nothing could be distinguished but the occasional creak of the floorboards or muffled shout in the distance.
I can feel the warmth of something dripping from my left temple; I feel it spatter on my leg. Smells like blood.
A throbbing headache, I try to raise my hand to my forehead, but it’s unresponsive. From my shoulders down, both arms tingle, trying to remind me of what I’ve been through today. My mind won’t cooperate. Where am I?
The room pitches and my seasickness returns. A boat. Thunder.
A flash of lightning burns an image in my soul and is gone: tiny room, a metal chair, I’m strapped to it, and my arms? My arms! Where are my arms? I scream but can only wheeze.
The room trembles again, throwing me to the floor with a splash. I hear the rush of water, already inches deep around me. Coming under the door! Cold, rising! I can’t move!