The Cold Floor

   The first thing I notice when I come to is the cold. Where am I? I feel around for purchase only to find smooth marble. It runs up the walls and all around me feels like a marble tomb.

   It's dark, wherever I am, and I find myself running through the last twenty-four hours in my head. A burlap sack with two shirts, two pair of jeans, and a toothbrush. A quiet bay window and sleeping girls in the beds around me. The rusty lock that almost gave me away. I see an empty street with flickering light. Headlights. I think they were headlights. Then blackness. 

    Shit. I finally come to the realization that I was taken. I test my body for injury, but find only old scars and working limbs. I feel no pain, but I cannot escape the icy bite of the marble. I look around for my bag and I find it thrown in a corner of the tomb I have found myself in. I remove the clothes and dress myself in layers. I warm myself enough to stop shaking and I find myself fatigued from my shivers. 

    I feel for a door, a window, a lock, something to confirm my entry-and highlight my exit. I find nothing on the floor or walls. Is it on the ceiling? I stand on my tip toes as my fingertips graze the ceiling. I find grooves that create the shape of a square. That must be my exit. 

    Damn it. No latch or lock. No luck. I'm stuck for now and I am overwhelmed with exhaustion. I slip in and out of consciousness as I finally awaken long enough to find my sack and roll it into a ball. I nod off quickly and in my slumber my mind forms a plan.