UntitledSF Chapter 1
Samuel Wilson, exhausted and disoriented, feels himself being helped by men on either side of him. He feels their arms behind him, and his arms over their shoulders as they half carry, half drag him down the brightly lit hallway.
He must have been in some kind of accident; this place feels like a hospital. Through his blurred vision he can see people in scrubs, and others in white lab coats. The walls are light green ceramic tiles, the floor is polished granite, and the ceiling is white acoustic tile punctuated with regular banks of fluorescent lights.
His eyes feel swollen and burn, his ears are ringing, every bone and muscle in his body aches. Whatever happened to him, he must be lucky to be alive.
The men helping him guide him inside a room with a single hospital bed, generic metal tables on either side of the bed, a television on the opposing wall, and a white curtain in a ceiling track make up the rest of the antiseptic décor.
His escorts help him