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Trapped in the Darkness It's dim, indescribably dark. Normally there is moonlight, artificial light, starlight, something, but not here; there's nothing. I try to maneuver, but I am restrained. I listen, but I hear nothing. I smell but I odor only something clinical. If it wasn't for my heart pounding and my lungs hurrying to catch up, I might imagine I am dreaming, but I am not. I am not! I fearfully reach out with my proper hand and, afraid of what I would find, I try to resist the temptation to clench my fist. With every centimetre I extend comes a new level of dread. I reach further and further, shivering in expectation of what I could find. Shivering enables me to sense the clothes I am wearing and bringing together the terrifying realisation that I am not wearing the underwear and shirt I was last night. I'm dressed in something rather different. I bring my hands back, from its external achieve, to touch with my waist: it feels like a coat. I slide it up to my neck. I feel cloth: it's a bowtie. I'm in a suit. I rarely wear suits. Reluctantly I force my hands to resume its search for a hint to where I'm. It is an unspeakable fear, to not understand what I would find. I reach out my hands. Thud. It strikes something. I hesitantly stroke the surface of the thing that it fulfilled. I hit out in another direction. Thud. And then I hit out in another. Thud. More alerted by this feeling of being trapped I even rub the surfaces together with my hands, hoping they'll give some clue to my situation. I feel all about me, but it's futile. My sense of desperation mounts. Realising that sensations alone will not help me I try to recall what I did last night. It had been my bi...