Rolling Hills

He wasn't really sure how long he had been there...but he knew it must have been a while. The man in the corner with the beard was starting to smell and his hands were aching. When he had awoken he thought long and hard about how long he had been asleep...but couldn't remember the last time he knew. He supposed it could have been too long ago to remember. He sat trying to remember his name and what his shrouded past may have included. The first thought that came to mind was that of a woman in a blue dress standing in what looked to be a kitchen. Yes, it was a kitchen and she seemed to be cooking. Was this woman his mother? Perhaps she was his sister or maybe his wife. He felt sure if she was his mother he would recognize her but her face could not be seen. It seemed to be blurred as if she was just an image from a dream that he could not fully remember. In fact, at the moment he couldn't remember anything. He looked around the room and the first thing he saw was the old man with the beard. The man was chained to the wall by his wrists and had died some time ago. He looked at his own wrists and noticed he was chained to the wall also. He couldn't seem to move his hands or any other part of his body at the moment, it seemed as if he had just awoken into a dream and not yet into complete consciousness. His next thought was that there must be some way out of here, some way to escape from this room and from the man with the beard. His head ached and cursed him for all the thinking. He couldn't remember what happened before the room but somehow knew that he did not belong in it. Somehow it did not seem right. Pushing through the ache of his head he searched for an answer in his groggy memory and was only able to come up with the woman in the blue dress. He studied the room she was standing in. It seemed like any ordinary kitchen to him, pots were hanging over the stove and spices were lining the counter tops. The woman was stirring something in a pot and did not seem to know he was there watching her. There was, however, something of interest in the kitchen. A window was open just on the edge of his field of vision. He tried to look out the window, strained, but could not see anything more than what looked to be a field of green grass and soft rolling hills.