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Prologue

Lately, even when it’s light outside, I find I can’t tell if it’s morning or evening, if the sun is coming up or on its way back down. When I force my eyelids apart to check, all I see is a wide plane of sky the color of burning.

I blink, and blink again.

Looking over from my pillow, I catch sight of a clock.

5:23

The numbers stand out clearly on its display. The clock is cheap, plastic.
The crocheted lace doily lying beneath it is more to my liking, a pineapple motif woven into its pattern.

I try to lift my hand to trace the pineapple with my finger.
But it’s heavy as lead.

And not just my hand, my whole body is heavy, encased in lead.

Lead.

It doesn’t feel like a metaphor. It feels literal, as if now I know the exact feeling of lead being poured over my whole body.

Still, I feel as though touching the lace would unlock something—would allow me to remember more than I do. I concentrate my energy into my hand. My fingers brush against something; it feels like a remote control of some sort. I grab it and notice trailing down from it a thick cord.
What does it connect to?

There’s an orange bump in its center. Some sort of button?

My hand slowly grips the control, and I use all my might to push the button.

A sudden rumbling begins, accompanied by shaking.

The ground begins to shift beneath me. The shaking sounds like the growl of a beast.

My eyes fly open, as does my mouth, as I try to scream a scream that refuses to come out.

But it’s not the ground that’s shifting.

It’s the bed. The section beneath my back and the section beneath my legs are rising at the same time.

Startled, I throw the controller away. The rumbling abates; the shaking subsides.

I look around.

All that’s visible through the window is sky.

Where is this place? Who am I?

I seem to have forgotten.

I seem to have been asleep for quite a long time.