Trapped.
The air is cold. My skin is cold. The glass is cold.
A large plume of smoke billows from my mouth as I breathe. I don't know how I got here, and I don't where here is. I just sort of "got here". Outside I can hear noises, faint and distant. No signs of help on the horizon.
The colour orange surrounds me and reminds me of the stomach lining I threw up before I... Well, before everything went blank.
The hairs on my skin stand in protest against the cold. I run my fingers along the rusty metallic surface. Nothing returns my pleas my help: not even a handle.
Until, wait! I find something. It's sharp, but I can feel it swivel on a hinge.
Pulling down on the lever I feel it's edge pricking my finger. Blood descends my arms in torrents of red. I ignore the pain and embrace the warm air that floods over me.
A harsh light covers me like a blanket over a toddler.
As my feet refamiliarise themselves with the hard surface of concrete, a figure walks in front of me. Their face is shielded by the bright light.
I don't know who it is but I recognise them instantly.
They reach out their hand and grab my neck.
It's too late to run. I'm too weak.
Back to the darkness I go.