Flash fiction #6

The floor tasted like dirt. It clung to my tongue like glue. When was the last time I had cleaned it? Clearly it has been a while. My head was pounding and the light was ridiculously bright. I tried moving my fingers. They were a little stiff but moved ok. I slowly turn myself onto my back. I recognize where I am. I am definitely still in my kitchen. Nothing looks different but everything feels different. I am not sure what happened. While I was making myself lunch there was a loud noise by the back door. That is the last thing I remember.

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