It feels cold.

  My body feels oddly heavy, so much so that it's difficult to move.

  Even the slight action of trying to open my eyelids seems so agonizing.

  But still, I try.

  I feel like I must try.

  …

  As I slowly take in deep breaths, the chilly air fills my lungs and suddenly I feel a sharp pain on my abdomen. That is the only thing I can feel besides the overwhelming coldness all around me.

  Breathing in, slowly this time, I gather my strength and open my eyes.

  As my vision adjusts the first thing I see is a white cloth covering my face.

  But not just that, I can feel it lightly covering my entire naked body.

  Slowly pulling it from my face I take in the dimly lit room.

  It takes some time but slowly my eyes start to adjust.

  With deep breaths I sit up and trace my hand over the metallic surface just under me. My body had been laying here. In this cold metal table in this dark room.

  But why?

  It seems hard to remember anything only what currently is and that makes me restless.

  Rubbing my eyes as they adjust to the light in the dimly lit room I can start to make out my surroundings.

  The place seems medical in nature, but with an strangely eerie atmosphere. To one side I can see a glad cabinet with a few beakers, some filled and some empty and right next to it a desk.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The only light source in the room emanates from within the glass cabinetry and looking to the opposite side I can see nothing but a closed door.

  I try to stand and almost fall but manage to hold myself up against the metal table.

  Suddenly the sharp pain on my abdomen takes back my attention. It's at that moment that I see the stitched gash at my side.

  It's clean and surprisingly colorless, with no apparent distress in the skin.

  I don't know why but that instinctively makes me look back, and there I see a wall full of small doors.

  I am in the morgue.

  Am I supposed to be dead?

  …

  Sorting though my thoughts I try to find anything, something to remember from before I woke up.

  But there is nothing.

  Nothing, not even a name.

  Who am I?

  Looking back at the door I can see a white robe hanging behind it.

  Taking a deep breath I steady myself and as I walk towards the door.

  Grabbing onto the table I shakily take one step at a time.

  I have to look for someone.

  Clearly there must be a mistake and I'm not meant to be here.

  One step at a time I finally get my footing and cautiously walk towards the door.

  The tile floor under my feet is cold, reawakening the sensation on my feet, as if my body is coming back to life with every step I take.

  Finally getting to the door I grab onto the robe and use it to cover myself before going to open it.

  …

  I take steady breaths and open the door.

  …

  The hallway just outside is eerily quiet and dark, even darker than the cold morgue.

  I try to speak but words get trapped in my throat. Discomfort builds up in my mouth as the dryness of my throat prevents me from making any sound.

  Taking another deep breath I walk a few steps forward into the hallway while grabbing onto the wall ahead.

  There must be someone here.

  Someone that can help me.

  …

  And then I hear it.

  Steps.

  Steps of someone that can help.

  My emotions surge and I see it before I can react or think, when suddenly a light is flashed on my face and just as I race my hand to block the sudden uncomfortable shininess, I hear a gunshot and everything goes bla…