I woke up. I knew it was early, because without opening my eyes I could tell it was still dark. I was thirsty, so after a while I decided to grab my glass of water. When I opened my eyes I did not see what I was expecting. I did not see my bedroom. I saw a basement.
I looked around, confused. Where the hell was I?! In panic and denial, I shut my eyes again.
”I must have been dreaming”, I thought – it was the middle of the night, after all. A couple of minutes later I was fully convinced that I was indeed tucked up in my own bed at home, so I opened my eyes again.
Crap. Still in a basement.
As my eyes searched around the darkened room full of someone else’s stuff, I looked at each item in turn, hoping for a clue. I looked at the writing on the side of the boxes stacked up against the wall. Shit. Not only had I woken up in a strange basement, I had also lost the ability to read. No matter how hard I tried, I could not make sense of the letters. So I did the only sensible thing – I shut my eyes again.
Once again, I was well on the way to convincing myself that I must be at home, when something moved in the bed beside me.
What? Ok, no. I would have remembered that! Who the hell was in my bed?!
I opened my eyes again. Too scared to turn over and see who was beside me, I continued to stare around the room. Old furniture, clothes, more boxes.
Finally, I spotted a small silver suitcase. A distant bell began to ring in my mind and I eventually recognised the suitcase as my own. I stared at the suitcase, trying to grab hold of the fragmented memories.
I had been on a flight… Copenhagen… A few glasses of wine… A few espresso martinis… A few gin and tonics… perhaps a couple of shots…
Oh.
A “quiet night in” with friends I had met in Morocco the month before, which had turned out to be anything but. There hadn’t been enough space for us all to sleep, so I’d agreed to share a double bed in the basement with a friend. I couldn’t read, because I can’t understand Danish.
Thankfully I had not been drugged, kidnapped, or locked in a basement against my will. I had just given myself one hell of a hangover.
Oh my… 😀 I loved this short story! Sounds like you really got to try a night out “the Danish way”, haha. Being a Dane myself I can confirm that quiet nights sometimes turns out like that 😉 Amazing written! Thank you for sharing!
Becci
Ah thanks Becci! I have to go back to Copenhagen one day… I was too hungover to enjoy the city as much as I would have liked! 😂