The last clumsy blow snapped the lock, and he stumbled in before crumpling to the floor. The cool autumn wind rushed to fill the empty nest of a warehouse with the smell of wet fallen leaves and cold earth. He shivered.

He had remembered to stuff a pen and paper into his pocket during his escape, hadn’t he? He fished them out.

There was no time left – the drug was taking effect, the drug was taking effect and his memory was underwater now. Screw it. He didn’t want to forget and disappear and wake up a stranger.

The last rays of the sun illuminated the lone figure in the corner of the old building.

I’ve always loved writing. He paused.

Then, leaning heavily against the rough concrete walls for support, he begun.

My name is Nicolas. The month is October, 2014.