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Feb. 25th, 2018 06:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
selectingyourperceptionYour head hurts. Your eyes feel like a five year old's art project - as if someone dumped glue over your eyelids, and then added a handful of glitter dust.
You try and rub the sludge out of your eyes, and maybe massage your aching head. Only, you can't move your arms. You try again, this time feeling the sharp bite of metal around your wrist, cutting through the dull throb in your head.
You start to open your eyes, slowly. A bright light feels like it's trying to penetrate your skull, and there's dancing spots of color everywhere. Blinking feels like you're rubbing sandpaper across your corneas, but slowly your vision starts to clear.
Your body has been laid out flat, on some form of table. Your arms have been bound tightly by chains, your legs spread and bolted down. You can see your masculine pride, if you strain, though it's shriveled a little from the cold.
Looking around, you can see that you're in a stone room. There are shelves with colored glass bottles, and an oak door that hangs tantalizingly in front of you. If you could get up you might be able to reach it.
You have no idea where this place is. You can't remember how you got here - actually, The last you remember, you were... you were...
Your head hurts. Trying to remember any details seems painful, somehow.
You can try to remember who you are, anyway?
Or you could give up before you even begin....
You try and rub the sludge out of your eyes, and maybe massage your aching head. Only, you can't move your arms. You try again, this time feeling the sharp bite of metal around your wrist, cutting through the dull throb in your head.
You start to open your eyes, slowly. A bright light feels like it's trying to penetrate your skull, and there's dancing spots of color everywhere. Blinking feels like you're rubbing sandpaper across your corneas, but slowly your vision starts to clear.
Your body has been laid out flat, on some form of table. Your arms have been bound tightly by chains, your legs spread and bolted down. You can see your masculine pride, if you strain, though it's shriveled a little from the cold.
Looking around, you can see that you're in a stone room. There are shelves with colored glass bottles, and an oak door that hangs tantalizingly in front of you. If you could get up you might be able to reach it.
You have no idea where this place is. You can't remember how you got here - actually, The last you remember, you were... you were...
Your head hurts. Trying to remember any details seems painful, somehow.
You can try to remember who you are, anyway?
Or you could give up before you even begin....
