There was a light knock on the heavy, cold, steel door. Flakes of dirty red paint drift lazily to the floor. At first the knock was easy to ignore. With time, of which there was precious little, the knock became more persistent. Louder. Heavier. Intrusive.

Needed a nap so desperately: hadn’t slept in days. Eyelids were heavy. Knock. Was I dreaming? Knock. How did anyone know where I was? What was this place? Knock.

It seemed like days since I escaped the hum of the city. My sunglasses lay unblinkingly on the floor beside me. My precious little white sleeping pills spilled on the dark, worn, wooden floor looked like the remnants of a crystal snowflake shattered by someone’s dream. Was that knocking or just a pounding headache? So hard to tell. Sunlight slipping in through a defect in the blinds: such a strange, strange room. Knock.

Had to find what I had lost, no time to loose. How stupid I had become. Get up you fool and resume your search. Knock. Swung my heavy leaden legs over the edge of the crude bed. Listened to the crunch of my exotic sunglasses become more of the trash in my seemingly long, empty life. Knock.

Stood up fast, too fast. Grabbed a long piece of wood to assist me to the door. It had a curved black, sharp metal blade securely fastened to its tapered end. A sickle? What had I stumbled into? Is the sickle a metaphor for what is on the other side of the door? Who, or rather what, was knocking? Was my time due? Did the messenger bring a fresh beginning? Was there someone in here, some one alive? My tired grey matter was playing cruel tricks on me. Apprehensive, the hairs on the back of my neck were at full alert, yet, in a way, I welcomed whatever awaited me.

Grabbed the oily doorknob firmly in one hand, the lethal sickle in the other. Raised the instrument of death high above my head, ready to strike out. Turned and pulled swiftly: opening the antique door so as to surprise my guest. Dark blur swept up toward me. Wet. That’s my lost dogs name. Wet. He found me before I could find him. Here in this old sickle factory.