When Zenna awoke. It was peacefully dark and silent. The voices, and the drink were gone. Her bag was neatly at the end of the bed.
She felt the feel of the blanket against her cheek, and tucked around her body. Like she was in a cocoon of warmth.
Am I some sort of butterfly now? she giggled at the thought, then stopped when she realised that she was giggling.
There was enough light from the high window to see the little room. It was small and plain - nothing on the walls, a single iron bed with blanket. A wooden end table with a glass half full of water, a box of tissues, and a travel clock with the time '3:30'.
She guessed that it meant that it was 3:30 in the morning. How long had she been here? And where was here?
It smacked of institutional living. She looked for bars, and restraints, but there were none.
And then she realised, she couldn't see a door either.
I should be panicked. Why am I not panicking? She moved the corner of the blanket, silk-ended against her face. Enjoying the soft feel.
Perhaps I'm dead after all? This is the day when I jumped off the bridge and woke up in a comfortable bed. I'll remember it to the day I die. She giggled again.
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