It was a winter day; overcast, ash-gray and several feet of snow on the ground. I could see my breath and was not dressed very warmly, but I wasn't particularly cold either. I was with several people, at least a dozen. We were in a bland room of a house I didn't know, on a covered deck I've never seen, and then at a hill that was only vaguely familiar though the landscape around was bleak. The others seemed to take me to each place and I remember realizing I had no way of leaving them. I had no part whatsoever in knowing where we going, I felt as a feather at the whim of the wind's direction.

There was much talk amongst the group at each place we went, just meaningless talk, but I didn't contribute anything and heard nothing said, only the noise of chatter. The worst part was that I knew not one face from the group I was attached to. Everywhere we went, I had no choice but to be there with them, with no way of leaving, even if I tried. I had the feeling that after a few yards, I'd end up next to them again. But I didn't want to be with them, I didn't know them. And yet I was never able to leave.

I woke up not with the common wha-what-was-that-where-am-I-oh-I'm-home-in-my-bed-and-it-was-all-a-dream feeling, but with a frightening notion that I had the utter memory-drainage of an amnesiac. And for several moments, though I was seeing and conscious, the only thing registering within was the ring of an empty bell.