"Where the hell am I?"
That was the first thought that ran through my head when I woke up this morning. I don't know how I knew I wasn't where I was supposed to be before I even opened my eyes, because I don't know where I am supposed to be. All I know is I am not supposed to be here. I don't even know how I know that. Jesus, this makes no sense. I don't know my name, or who I am. And no one seems capable of telling me. One man walked in here earlier, apparently to see if I was awake. He left quickly, and he seemed confused about something. That makes two of us, at least.
I seem to be free to roam around, but there isn't much here. We- from what I've seen, there are only a few others here- are in a big old house in the middle of some big country. Where is anyone's guess, and why is as much a mystery. Whenever I met someone, though, they seemed edgy and eager to get away from me. I heard them talking together. Maybe about me. I didn't recognize the name they used. Am I a prisoner? Is this some sort of asylum? I'm treated well. I eat with the others, and they gave me paper and a pen when I asked so I could write this. If I ever regain my sanity or my memory, or whatever it is I've lost, I want to be able to look on this time and analyze it. Perhaps-
The same man who was in here this morning just came and left again. He asked me if I was all right, to which I responded yes. What, I asked him, was I doing here? His face took on a rather sick expression and he left quite abruptly. I'm getting a headache. This has been a very long day and I'm feeling the need to rest most sharply. I'll record my further adventures tomorrow. There might be a car or some means of transportation on the grounds by which I can get help. Do I even know how to drive? Is there someone waiting for me? A wife? Children? There is no wedding band on my finger. Will the others here allow me to leave? And most importantly, how the hell am I going to get to sleep tonight?