That’s all I remember. It was cold.
Then I woke up. Here. Where is here?
I look around. It’s a room.
The walls are blank.
I look down at myself.
I’m wearing clothes that are unfamiliar to me.
It’s blinding. This is a myriad of white.
Searing white. Inescapable white.
I remember nothing. I do not have a name. I am like a painting that has been coloured in white paint. My old life has disappeared but it must still be there. I keep touching a scar. It is on my palm at the base of my thumb. I don't know what it is but it looks like it has been there for a while.
I lay there for an hour or maybe a year. How strange it is that I still remember what time is yet I do not remember myself. There was nothing to think about. It was tortuous nothing. Any search for these non-existent memories return fruitless and blank.
I become hungry. It is the only sign of time that they could not remove. I begin to think who they are. Why am I here? What is their purpose with me? I laugh. These are the same problems I faced before. I stop. I remember that. I wondered what my purpose was before. I guess that hasn't changed.
The same problems. My hunger passed a long time ago. It seems that I can only remember primal instincts. No matter where I am, I have the same problems: hunger, thirst, questions about my origin.
Time doesn’t seem to matter anymore. I could have been here for just hours or I could have been here for decades. It didn’t seem to affect me anymore. It had all faded away.
I thought everything had finally settled. I felt peace. I may not have known what I was doing there but I felt calmness. Everything seemed as it was meant to be.
Then the wall slid away to reveal a man.