As still as stone, it sits forever. Time is a concept you can't even remember that you've forgotten. You feel something near you. You sense their form as being words, sentences, and yet every time you try and settle on them, they drift away from your grasp, as if each shape is completely unaware that they are supposed to exist, and every glance you try to steal causes them to shrink away from the sheer embarassment. You feel simultaneously weightless, and like you've been falling for your entire life. Falling, falling falling...
The first thing to greet you is the menace of a migraine in your head. Your eyes realize what a sorry state you're in and decide to open themselves on your behalf, defacing the sacred halls of your corneas with an unnaturally bright light. Oops! I swear they mean well, but I wouldn't blame you for getting upset at them. By the time you are able to collect yourself, you find your hands covering your eyes like they're ashamed, not quite sure how long this aching body has been sat posed like that.
Your eyes open a little more slowly this time, taking their time to adjust for the average and not-as-blinding-as-you-remember brightness of this scene. Now, a chance for a proper assessment, or a "pan-and-scan" as some call it! (Inside joke, you wouldn't get it.) Exquisite wooden flooring, very tasteful use of minimal furniture, and genius interior decoration surround you. It is truly impossible to not marvel at such a feat of architecture. You eventually gather that the feet and legs in front of you must be your own, and it, therefore, follows that you must have fallen on the floor during your very clumsy and honestly awkward awakening. You command every brain cell you can towards the window next to the bed, the unclear shapes and the way they move ever so gently.
"I wonder where this is..."
"Maybe get a better look outside?"
"Do you even remember how to walk?"
Something within you still does. It doesn't take as many steps as you expected for your face to be pressed up against the hard glass surface of the window. Ah, green. A timeless colour. The hills seem to go on forever, at least until these hardworking eyes decide they can't go on any longer. You can make out structures of wood and dirt, and you can make out that they couldn't have existed until someone made them, but you cannot for the life of you make out for what purpose they were made. As you try to make sense of it, the air as it moves in your body and your heart as it pumps blood is what ultimately garners your attention.
"It's getting pretty fast..."
"Was it this fast before?"
"This was our home, dude."
Next: #02