The door closed silently. His listless body hung over the bed, drenched in sweat. The old fan whirred above, barely moving the sluggish air. He sighed. It’d been so long since he’d been able to relax without the interruptions of children or wife. But now he could. They were gone. He didn’t know where. All he knew is that they were gone. He sighed. His body hurt; he didn’t know why. As the fog lifted from his mind he realized that he didn’t know anything – his name, where he was, why he knew his wife was gone, how he knew exactly what to do next. He knew nothing – and everything. He slowly rolled over and fell off the bed. His nose breathed in the lurid stench in his shoes. They reeked, reeked of something he couldn’t place, something he didn’t remember, but he knew he knew what it was. Too bad he couldn’t remember. He knew if he could remember why they reeked he would know what happened. He slowly put the shoes on. He stood up, called by fate. He walked out of the room. No one knows where his shoes ended up.