Spaced, Part 1

A box of matches laid conspicuously on a square table. Looking down, the label says 'Wizard'. Wizard matches, heh.

I can't seem to process the idea of walls, or even a ceiling. But there is light from up there somewhere. Hmm..

There wasn't a chair the last I checked. Though, I suppose I didn't check at all did I?

Sitting down, both palms laid flat upon the table. The wood feels good. Comforting almost.

Blood. I come to realize there seems to be a wound in my mouth. The taste of blood is sweet as always.

My throat is dry despite this. I remember nothing. But I can clearly read. Where the hell am I? Damn.

The feeling of the chair and table stays ever so consciously in my head. I have since then realized I have absolutely no clothing on. Interesting.

More interestingly, my body seems not to be sweating at all. I can't seem to perceive of the temperature as well, though clearly it seems to be cool enough.

'Wizard'. The familiarity of it all irks me. There is exactly one match inside. I didn't need to check. I knew this.

I remove the one match from its box and light it with a single strike. Almost immediately, I instinctively dropped it.

The flames lick the table, burning it slightly. The touch of what's left is warm, rugged and somehow, bitter.

My head is in pain. Metaphorical knots tied inside, too tight to be undone, that's how the pain is like.

Where am I? What are these things? This "room" I'm in doesn't seem to have any limits upwards or side.

The light, wherever it's from, is fading.