I slept on a park bench, near the house in Örebro, and I woke to a feeling of being very cold, an ache phasing into my back, touching the specific set of organs and nerves that felt like the border of my soul. I tried to open my eyes, or, specifically, my eyelids moved like every time I had blinked or woken, yet my usual instinctively measured movement was not enough to open them. It had snowed whilst I was asleep, and the elusive weight of the fall on my face was not enough for me to know it had snowed, yet was enough to seal my eyes. I panicked, fearing I had been buried alive, and jumped up. The flakes fell forward and my eyes opened.
My neck craned to survey the park, my eyeballs not quite feeling like my own. It was night now and I realised I had been asleep for some time. As I got my bearings, I felt the presence of something watching me, something retreating behind a tree slowly without taking its eyes off me. Something moribund, timeless. I imagined it to be my double, or something worse. I ran all the way home, my heart turning my blood to hot water as my feet slipped around on the pavements that made my escape.