Promethean Writing Challange

[slick-mink.livejournal.com]

‘Where am I?’ The man thought to himself as he woke up.  ‘Second question…who am I?’.  He didn’t know.  All the man knew was that he was on the floor somehow, and that he was wearing tattered dusty clothing. 

He sat up and immediately regretted that action.   The world swam about in his vision and he felt queasy.  Still, he didn’t let that stop him.  He was in an unknown place, and suffering from amnesia.  ‘Funny’ he thought ‘I don’t know my own name but I know what amnesia is’.

The place he found himself was a mess of humming machinery and cables.  The floor was snaked in them, coiled towards machines that were arranged in a semicircle for where he found himself.  He felt a chill run down his spine and knew in his soul something wasn’t right.  It looked menacing.

“Hello!” he called out.  “Is anyone there?”.  His voice echoed but there was no reply.  Somehow he knew there wouldn’t be.  If only he could remember what he was doing here.   If frustrated him that he couldn’t.  However, the pain in his head frustrated him more. 

Whoever this man was, he knew he wasn’t healthy.  Couldn’t tell what was wrong yet.  A headache, now he was sweating.  Intense nausea.  Maybe the flu?  How did he know what the flu was?  He stood up slowly, balancing against a desk just to one side.  His legs were weak.  Maybe malnourished?  No, that wasn’t it.  He didn’t appear to be suffering from weight loss.  He was just sick.

Then the coughing started.  He put his hands up to his mouth reflexively.  When they came away, he knew there was a problem.  Blood.  A sickly bright colour.  Panic grew now.  He ran his hand through his hair to calm down.  This did nothing to calm him when his hand came away with hair.  Suddenly he knew what was wrong.  And with that knowledge came a grim realisation.  He’d be dead soon.