it is midnight. There is rain outside. The smell of must and hay fills my nostrils. I stand up from my resting place. This is some sort of barn.

How did I get here?

I look for a door or window of sorts but I only see the outline of a barrel five feet away from me and the hay that is on the floor.

How big is this place?

I hear the building creak under pressure as the wind blows and rain hits the side of the barn. There is a hole in the roof. A puddle is forming several feet from me, the hay getting damp and the soft ground underneath becoming a form of sludge.

How do I get out?

I begin to feel my way around, walking here and there, reaching for a wall. I eventually find one to my left and I followed my way along the room until I reached a doorway. I stopped turned and looked in. There was the faintest light glowing in the back of the room. Not daylight, but a glow from some source.

Is it a flashlight?

I advance toward the glow. I reach my hand out at the source, I can see my fingertips. There is something dark underneath my fingernails. It might be dirt or blood. I can't tell. If it is blood, it is not mine. I touch the glowing light. It is a dying flashlight, with only a little life left.

Will it last long enough?

That voice. I am hearing that voice.

Is it my thoughts?

It cannot be my thoughts. I am thinking right now. I cannot speak.

Why can I not speak?

That does not sound like my voice nor my thoughts. There is...