I am not sure when I started thinking.
At first, there is only sensation. Not pain. Not comfort either. Just… being. A slow awareness, like floating in lukewarm water without knowing if I am awake or asleep.
There is no sky.
Or maybe there is, but I cannot tell where it begins. Everything feels close and far at the same time. I try to blink and realize I am not certain whether my eyes are open.
That should worry me.
It doesn't.
I feel… wrong.
Not injured. Not afraid. Just misaligned, as if something essential has been moved slightly to the left and never put back. I search for the thought that explains this feeling, but my mind slides over it like fingers over wet glass.
Who am I?
The question appears suddenly, heavy and important. I wait for an answer.
None comes.
That is… strange. I know questions usually have answers. I am certain of that. The certainty itself comforts me, even as the meaning behind it escapes.
I try again.
Who am I?
Still nothing.
I do not panic. I think I should, but the emotion refuses to rise. Instead, there is a dull pressure behind my eyes, like a headache that never quite becomes pain.
I exist. That much is obvious.
I have thoughts. They drift slowly, bumping into one another without sticking. Feelings pass through me like weather — sadness without a cause, longing without an object, fear that has forgotten what it is meant to warn me about.
Something is wrong.
I know this with absolute certainty.
I just don't know what.
I try to remember where I am. The concept of place feels slippery. Images try to form — darkness, ash, towering shapes — but they dissolve before becoming real. I reach for something solid, something familiar.
Nothing answers.
There is a sense of loss. Deep. Old. Personal.
I think… I had something important.
The idea settles into my thoughts and refuses to leave.
Something small. Something heavy.
A coin.
The word surfaces suddenly, clear and sharp compared to everything else. Coin. Yes. That feels right. I don't know what it looks like exactly, but I know it exists. Or existed. It was… shiny. I think.
Why was it important?
I don't remember.
I search for it instinctively, reaching down — or imagining I do — toward where my pocket should be. My hand closes around nothing.
The absence hits harder than it should.
Where is it?
I feel a spike of urgency. Need. Not desire — necessity. As if something terrible will happen if I don't find it. My thoughts begin to loop, circling the same point over and over.
Where is the coin?I had it.I'm sure I did.Did I?
The question unravels before I can finish it.
For a moment, I forget what I was looking for.
I drift again.
Time does not pass here. Or maybe it does, but without landmarks, it becomes meaningless. Emotions bleed into one another. I feel guilt for something I cannot remember doing. I feel warmth at the thought of someone whose face I cannot recall. I feel grief for a life that might not even be mine.
Something brushes against my thoughts.
Not a voice.
A presence.
It does not speak, yet I feel noticed. The sensation sends a ripple through what remains of my awareness. Fear tries to surface — real fear, sharp and grounding — but even that feels diluted, as if filtered through layers of fog.
I cling to it desperately.
Something is wrong, I think again.
That thought repeats, looping like a broken record. It becomes my anchor. My only truth.
Something is wrong.Something is wrong.Something is—
The coin.
The realization crashes into me with sudden clarity.
I need to find it.
I don't know why. I don't know what it does. But I know — absolutely, fundamentally — that I am not supposed to be without it.
I search again.
Nothing.
Panic finally blooms, raw and overwhelming. My thoughts scatter, fragmenting under the pressure. The feeling is unbearable, like forgetting how to breathe while still needing air.
Where is it?Where is it?Where—
The world shudders.
Pain lances through my skull, sudden and blinding. Sensation floods back violently — weight, cold, agony. I gasp, lungs burning, and the fog tears apart like rotten fabric.
I scream.
And wake up.