บท 196: Doing Nothing

Ceiling. A dry, paint-peeled, crack-formed, web-meshed ceiling. Ugly ceiling too. 

If I was alive, if I wasn't staring at the ceiling tiles of purgatory, then I think I just woke up maybe... breathing, maybe. I don't remember going to sleep. 

It's cold too. I wasn't just shivering, I was an earthquake popsicle from how frost-biting everything suddenly felt. I went into the mummy-position. Forearms wrapped close, and wrapped tight. The hairs on my skin felt like frozen prickles and barbs, brushing against them felt so coarse and bumpy. 

I'm... brushing against my bare skin? Wait a second... I don't remember taking my shirt off. I don't remember...

I remember…

What do I remember?