This is a slightly re-written short story I wrote some years ago.
Blood. It was everywhere. Literally everywhere. Dripping from his hands, covering his jeans and the gray t-shirt of some mediocre metalcore band, which nobody remembered. “This time there’s no tomorrow” he thought to himself, while lighting a cigarette.
“Do I even smoke… where did that came from?“, puzzled and amused he still inhaled from the modern poison. It made the moment more dramatic. At least in his head.
It has been not more than a couple of minutes – a time just enough to finish a cigarette. The squeezing pain was fading away and he finally stood up. He had no name. No memories either. Some kind of shadow, another slave to the week. It has been a while, so his tired and worn eyes finally got used to the lack of sufficient light. Standing motionless in the center of this room, he finally realized there’s a tiny door in one of the corners. And a dead body in the other. Then he blacked out.
It must have been half an hour before his mind finally snapped back to what seemed to him to be “reality”. That half an hour felt like forever. He knew he should make a decision as soon as possible. His body and soul were torn between those two corners. Finally, he started walking to what he thought was the reason for him being there – the body. A few tiny steps later, he found himself falling down in this vast black hole. He blacked out again.
That unknown person could have been anyone. And it is. It is you, me, him, her… in this parallel world where nothing and everything makes sense.
…blood. It was everywhere. Literally everywhere. He woke up again in the very same room. He still had no name. No memories either. “This time there’s no tomorrow” he said to himself desperately trying to remember what happened and how did he end up there. In vain. He was trapped in his consciousness forever.