I stumbled into the domicile. Unfamiliarity hit me and many smells attacked my senses. The faint smell of burnt cinnamon and strawberry, and I could almost taste the pungent, odorous sweat. I could not trust my sight, even when adjusted in the darkness. I hated feeling self-conscious of the foreboding figures. Refused to succumb to the intimidations, shuddered at the chill of the room and anything I touched. Glares and cracks of light, faint- yet luminous. Hearing the squeak of the sliding door, like nails on a chalkboard. Wincing, I pray I do not wake the breathing of one other than myself. As I chide myself for being so edgy, I fall onto a dark plane, feeling the soft, comfort rush up to greet me. Still I am unsure if it was distant clock ticking or deafening silence that lulled me to sleep as I unwillingly submerged into the darkness.