Chapter 1: Awakening
She wakes up. The waking in and of itself is surprising, since she doesn’t remember going to sleep. She sits up, taking in the room around her. It definitely seems like a strange place to have fallen asleep. She’s lying on a hard wood floor, no bed, pillows, or blanket in sight. She can also see the sky above her; part of the roof has collapsed inward, leaving a hole directly above her.
She sits up. The rest of the room doesn’t look much better. Debris litters the floor, the door is partially hanging off its hinges, and broken crates lie abandoned and cobwebbed in the corner.
She has no idea where she is.
Sitting up was painful, and she glances down at her body to take stock of why. Strange. She doesn’t recognize herself. Her hands seem too small and tail, chipped black nail polish gleaming in the sun as she examines them. Her entire body seems that way. Small and yet heavy, skin stretched too tight over bones. The reason for the pain is obvious as she continues to look. Bruises litter her body, purpling and angry.
Pressing one, she winces at how tender it feels. She doesn’t have any visible cuts, however. This is strange because while glancing around she couldn’t help but notice the pool of blood she was lying in.
Well, pool may be the wrong word. The blood is clearly painted onto the floor, a deliberate pattern taking the form of a circle and strange writing she doesn’t recognize. It’s dry to the touch, flaking off in some areas.
Her clothes are clean despite the fact she’d been lying in the middle of the circle. She reaches up to check her head, which has been pounding since she woke up. Ouch. There’s a lump on the back of her head, swelling almost disguised by her wild mane of curls. Pressing up against it, she can feel how large it’s swollen. Touching it also makes her flinch away in pain, her boots scuffing the circle.
Resolving not to do that again, she stands. Wobbly and unsure as a newborn filly, she stumbles out of the circle. The hole in the roof is good for this, at least. With the sun shining in she is able to avoid tripping on the loose floorboards. It’s also due to the sun that a glint in the corner catches her eye.
She makes her way over to the corner. There, amongst the broken boxes, is a single, pristine, overturned crate. On top of it a phone and journal sit. It was the journal that caught her eye, its metal clasp reflecting the sun and shining in the dark. She picks it up, and the motion feels familiar. On the inside cover there’s an inscription.
As she made us
Something in her warms at the phrase, though she doesn’t recognize it. Still, she traces over the words with her fingertips and feels a slight comfort. Turning the page she’s met with-well it can only be described as nonsense. Just letters smashed together with no meaning. If she hadn’t read the inscription, she’d be worried she’d forgotten how to read. Instead she’s just confused. She flips through. Every page is the same. Towards the end she finds a drawing. This she is able to recognize. It perfectly reflects the circle she woke up in.
Weird. If this is her journal, which she suspects just based on how she reacted to it, did that mean she was the one who’d drawn the circle? And if so, where did she get the blood.
Looking at the circle, she knows that it’s a lot of blood, more than a person can safely lose. She doesn’t know how she knows that, but she does. Still, she decides, snapping the journal shut, it might not be human. It could be pig or cow blood, or even red paint. The metallic smell in the air could be anything. This place is probably full of rusting metal objects.
If it is human, that would mean someone was dead. And she might have been the culprit. So it couldn’t be human. After all, it’s not like she remembers killing anyone. Or where the body would be, how she did it, who it could be. She ignores the fact she can’t even remember her own name. It’s fine. It’s animal blood.
She turns back to the crate and grabs the phone. It turns on, though 8% battery blinks at the top of the screen. Whatever the background is, it’s obscured by the number of notifications. As she lifts it closer to try and read through them, the phone unlocks. So it is hers.
Scrolling through the messages becomes very boring very quickly. Most of them are the same, people she doesn’t recognize messaging things like get home safe or feel better soon. The rest of the messages, still a large amount, come from two contacts named Mom and Tommy. These boil down to where are you and call me when you wake ip.
She considers it for a moment. Calling them. She almost does before tasting the metallic tang of blood in the air again. The circle of blood is still there. And she still has no idea what’s going on.
Turning the phone off and stashing it in a pocket of her skirt, she turns back to the circle. It’s disappointing that she didn’t find anything useful. She knew it was too much to hope for a text stating this is what you did last night and also here are some important details about your life.
For a minute she stands there, unsure of what to do next. She doesn’t know where home is, and she doesn’t want to drag anyone into whatever is going on. Logically, she knows she needs supplies. She pulls her phone back out and opens up the maps app. There is a pinned location labeled home. She can get supplies, maybe even money. She just needs to be smooth about it. Then she can leave and not have to worry about anyone else getting involved in her issues. She can figure it out herself.
Taking a deep breath and steeling herself, she marches over to the door. Another deep breath, and she pushes open the door. It swings open surprisingly easily for being so badly broken. As she steps out, she wonders if the walk will jog her memory.
It would be nice to know her name. Or where the blood came from. She’d take what she could get at this point.
