Okay, so, something new. A little writing experiment. It is currently Monday, and I am going to write a little bit of something, I dunno just what yet. Tuesday I will write more, and then more on Wednesday, and so on and so forth until I have a conclusion of some sort. Every day.
I'm doing this because I haven't been writing (fiction) as much as I should be, and I need to get back in the habit. Also because there is a room in my head and I don't know what it's doing in there...

The sunlight slunk in through the tattered curtains sluggishly, winding sulkily through the dust and the gloom to puddle in triangular slants on the beaten, scuffed wooden floor. One of these slants cast itself across the cushion of a chair with an elaborate red and gold pattern that had faded and now sat layered with dust. Beside the chair was a cheap lamp, tall and lean and brass with a simple white shade perched on top. Behind it, junk and memorabilia was piled high; once-wanted things that had been stored and forgotten-- a hat box, four packed leather suitcases, and several stacks of cardboard boxes with books, treasures, and once-grand clothes packed away neatly inside.
Across from the window an old wardrobe with a tarnished mirror reflected the struggling sunlight with stubborn persistence into the eyes of the person collapsed on the thick, dusty, patterned rug on the floor, but the man there did not yet wake. It was another ten minutes of gaudy yellow light pressing into his eyelids before he stirred, sat up, and groggily considered the world of dust around him.
The first thought to occur to the man was that he was hungover; the second was that he did not know where he was. After that, a cold pulse of panic took over as the man realized he could not recall his own name, or anything of the events of the time previous to his awakening here. There were blurry imprints of grass and swing sets and bookshelves on the back of his eyelids, but they were not what the man was looking to remember.
The room suddenly felt foreboding and ominous-- the dim light made the collected clutter into unpleasant silhouettes, and the dust seemed heavy with a silent scream of warning.
Abruptly, the man was overcome by the feeling that he had ought to turn around right away. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled upward as the man whirled quickly around.
Absolute anguish awaited.