THREE
I opened my door and was punched in the face. The nose, to be precise. Then – nothing. If I had had time, I would have been surprised, but I had not time. I had not even time to comprehend that I had been punched in the face. The door opens, I feel a smash to my face, white pain, and soothing black. From this, I later surmised a punch in the nose.
How long I lay on the floor I cannot say, nor can I say what occurred in those minutes or hours, but they must have been delicious. I wish I could remember, but then I would not have been truly unconscious. To be unconscious and yet remember how it felt is a boon not granted, sadly. What a refuge in memory that would be. But, there you go, there is no refuge. You are either conscious or not; unconscious or not. No shilly-shallying allowed
