Rusted Bed

You awaken to the first patters of chilling rain under a sagging billowing sky. Wind is rough and cold against you as it cuts through the meadow, leaves dancing like whispers in the distant trees. A leaden fog washes against the shores of the grassy knoll you find yourself on.

"How did I get here?"

Your eyes dart from side to side, but your vision only crawls along the horizon. The grating sound of rusted metal echos deeply throughout your body, your head slowly shifting with your vision.

Each agonizing inch fills you with more uncertainty. Each tree as unfamiliar as the last, no rock recognizable. Nothing here reminds you of anything, your memory unwilling to fill in the blanks.

Drawing up your arm, you find a folded letter, fighting against the breeze, slick drops of rain coating the paper's rough surface, it feels familiar... It feels like home.

Opening it you are greeted with ink like veins bleed black from the page, falling onto the ground, weaving in between the blades of grass, amorphous letters and alien words smearing and blending together.

A pitted weight bores on you, deep, a sense of missing, longing. Distortions waltz across your vision, stars and shapes take what little sense that remains. A bitter taste wells in your throat.