Still dark at eight o'clock. Whispers from the depths carry on. "Get to bed!" I light another smoke from the discarded butts overflowing from the kitchen ashtray. My fingers are shaking; stained red with the juice of rich ruby berries. My god! Wait, that's blood!
Struggling to breathe, I search the room for a vent. What happened to the vent? Where are the windows? suffocating...I need air.
Another tremor. I feel this cannot be my kitchen. Where am I, if not there?
Then I saw the man. His cold grey eyes stared into my own, and I whispered "Dad, where are we?"
Wait! Dad died years ago! Terror, as I've never felt