The sensation of floating was all he was aware of, he felt like his eyes are open yet all he could see was darkness. Slowly the darkness is diluted by patches of light swirling around for what seems like hours until his vision started to clear. The room was undefined at first, objects blurred into each other and seemed to sway about as if dancing to some horrific song only they could hear, slowly they stopped as definition crept into the world around him.<br/><br/>The gentle whine of the floorboards underneath his old, ratty military boots sparked him into the reality that he is standing up. How did this happen? He wondered as he slowly checked his body to make sure he was not seriously injured, stopping midway down his left leg as he realized their were others in the room. They were all lined up around a ragged, and tired, looking circular rug.<br/><br/>The dust caught in his dry throat, as he took a deep breath, causing him to cough loudly. The smell of dust and musty furniture seemed to hang in the air around him making him wish he had a nice breeze or a light drizzle to wash it all away.  As he looked about him he saw one of the others a red-haired woman locked in a vicious confrontation with the doors, giving up before proclaiming loudly that the door was locked.<br/><br/>Thatâ€™s when he heard the ticking, that ominous, relentless ticking. He hated clocks, especially grandfather clocks he always felt like they were ticking away the moments of his life as if telling him he was going to die soon.<br/><br/>â€œThe door has been openedâ€<br/><br/>He looked around startled at first before realizing that it was a thought inside his head. Trying to take a step backwards, he stumbles and falls to the floor knocking up a cloud of dust that causes him to cough once more. Once the dust had settled back down he dragged himself back to his feet and stood unsure, his legs trembling underneath him.  He looked up at the ceiling seeing nothing but a dark foreboding shadow hanging over them like funeral shroud. A shiver ran down his spine.<br/><br/>â€œIs anybody else having luck with their phone?â€ a man standing in the middle of the room asked, startling him.<br/><br/>When had he gotten there? He had not noticed the man moving about yet. He licked his dry cracked lips.<br/><br/>â€œI donâ€™t have a phoneâ€ the words escaped his parched mouth more as a croak then as actual speech. He felt as if every word were drying up more of his body. He headed over to the windows seeing if he could see outside of them or at least find some source of moisture.