tomorrow, maybe

The light was reflecting underneath the door, just a crack. I saw it from the bed. It covered only the smallest section of the floor and didn’t touch the walls. What was out there? Who, if anyone, was sharing this space with me?

Was I alone? It was unnaturally quiet. Goosebumps occasionally pricked my flesh, but there was no wind or breeze, not that I sensed anyway. I wasn’t cold or hot.

The wooden floor between me and the door, which I assumed was locked, shined dully from the glow. I felt a momentary flash of fear, but it faded quickly. Am I stuck here, or can I leave? Did I come here of my own free will, or was I dragged forcefully? Did I fight it? Maybe I welcomed it, and came along willingly.

I should get up and try the door, I thought, escape from the empty darkness and see where I am.

But, in here, I knew I was alone. I was fairly certain no ghosts could pass the threshold and I couldn’t remember who was out there that I’d want to see. Perhaps I’d always been isolated.

I faintly remember the sensation of hands other than my own touching my skin. I think I liked it. I think it made me feel alive, but I couldn’t remember.

But there had to be more than this. I couldn’t have always existed only in this silent space. I could recall the sensation of sunlight warming me, rain soaking my clothes, and snow freezing to my eyelashes. I had liked to soak in the green of the trees and the blue of the sky through my open eyelids, trying to absorb their brightness into my own body.

It wasn’t bright in here, and there was no color.

I looked around, again, for a window, forgetting momentarily that I had already checked, and confirmed that no visual connection between myself and the outside world existed any longer.

Except for the light underneath the door. Maybe I should get up and look under the crack. Maybe I’ll do that … maybe, tomorrow.

​Did I say that yesterday?