It was quiet here, wherever here was, probably in the mountains somewhere. He opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. It was night time, and it was dark – no moonlight. His head was resting on a soft feather pillow. The pillowcase smelled clean, and the sheets and blankets he was lying on and under felt like they had just been washed. He looked across the room, and he could barely make out the image of a door. He pushed himself off the bed and stood up. He found the only light in the room, a small brass lamp with a statue of a monkey attached to it – hanging off the side like King Kong. He turned on the light and realized he was inside a cabin. It had wood floors and wood walls, and from the looks of it, it was hand-built. This room looked familiar to him, the sheets and colors of the bed, and the walls, reflecting a time and place from when he was a child. He felt a wisp of cool air float into the room, ghost like, as the sounds of the forest seeped in. He looked over at the tiny window, which was partially open and again, it was a familiar image.
