T H I R T E E N
I wake to blackness. I am so disoriented, so achy, at first I wonder if I am dead or alive. I lie face-down on a cold, metal floor, twisted in an unnatural position. I turn, slowly reach out, place my palms down, and try to push myself up.
Every movement hurts. There doesn’t seem to be any part of me that is spared from pain. As I slowly sit upright, my head is splitting. I feel dizzy, nauseous, weak, and hungry all at the same time. I haven’t eaten in at least a day. My throat is parched. I feel like I’ve been put through a blender.
I sit there, my head spinning, and finally I realize that I’m not dead. Somehow, I am still alive.
I look around the room, trying to get my bearings, wondering where I am. It is black in here, and the only light filters in through a narrow
