Deep in a dense fog... It seemed to embrace her and she struggled to set free from its tentacles. How long? She didn't know, but it was too long... Eventually, she got rid and, bit by bit, the dense fog stayed behind. Her vision was still a little blurry but she could hear. First, the sound of people talking or arguing; at a distance, a fight, perhaps. Then, the smell of smoke. Could it be a straw cigarette? Smoke, drink and crammed people. Through the blurred vision and a terrible headache, she could see herself sitting at an isolated table in the corner of the bar. The place was declining, lit with torches hanging from the walls where the bricks were visible in several spots. The plaster that once hidden them had fallen a long time ago. The ceiling was not in a better condition, with stains of damp and mold on the corners, and in another distant side, the ceiling simply had fell down, letting the moonlight enter from a cloudless black sky. On the ground below, there were water puddles of rain that had fallen earlier and which gently stirred with the breeze.

Men and women huddled around improvised tables and benches, drinking, talking, or even arguing under the light of candles that disputed space on the tables with mugs, glasses, and cans. Everyone had a scruffy and dirty look: most of the men wore beards, mustaches, and badly cut hair, while women had filthy hair and smile with yellow or missing teeth in many cases. Everyone had dirty, worn out and torn clothes, some of them had tattoos and piercings.

In the half-light, after blowing out a candle that was on the table, she just watched. On the other side, a group played some game started a fight. That should be usual once the other goers did not seem to notice the people punching each other, kicking or fighting with knives. She tightened her arms around herself, trying to keep warm when a bowl of steaming liquid showed at her table, left by the employee's place. She eagerly threw herself on the bowl and took the first sip. The liquid was thin and tasted horrible, but the sensation of warming her guts was all she needed. When she finally finished it, she set the bowl back to the table with the unsettling feeling that someone was watching her. Someone in black clothes, in the middle of a table in the center of the room, almost unnoticed by couples making out. His thick coat was somewhat unusual for a place so crowded that it even looked like hell. Was he sick like her? She could not see his features, hidden the shadow cast by the hood, but somehow she could feel the weight of his gaze straight to her. That disturbing feeling from the previous day took hold of her again, and due to the fever or just for precaution, she decided to leave the bar.

She sat up in the bed with a startle. The same time, a terrible pain in her head tossed her back, making her lie down heavily even against her will. She noticed a small knob when she touched the base of her head. When would this have happened? By the way, what had happened? Nothing .... just forgetfulness, silent and empty in her mind as an answer... She tried so hard but the white fog was still there. Where was she and how had she gotten there? Nothing but that white fog... She shut her eyes in frustration.

When she opened them again, she looked around. It was a small room with faded and dampness walls. A window, with a missing glass and a piece of wood in its place, let in a faint yellow light through the glass that had been left, but it was so dirty that she could not see outside. Beside the bed, a can turned upside down served as a bedside table. A mug without the handle was there, along a bowl with a brownish liquid inside. On the opposite wall, also, an empty tin of paint had become a brazier that warmed the room. There was no other furniture than these.

Footsteps outside and whispers - a man and a woman - came from the outside but she could not understand what they were talking about. In a reflex reaction and with no reason, she closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. She heard the door open and heavy footsteps came to her bed.

"You are so stubborn! I told you I came here half an hour ago and she was sleeping!" the woman sounded a little annoyed.

Warm, coming from a large hot hand on her forehead, gave her the chills but she put herself together to not open her eyes and see the hands owner.

"At least the fever has broken." he sounded relief. She heard the noise of someone stirring in water, perhaps in the bowl next to her bed, and felt when a damp cloth had passed over her forehead and temples.

For a moment, she held her breath: first, due to the cold-water sensation on her skin and also, for the soft move with which he slid the cloth across her face. He also seemed to notice and for a fraction of a second, he stopped, but when she remembered to breathe again, the man continued his task.

"Don't take your eyes off her" he said when the cloth left her face. And then she heard his footsteps moving away, his presence leaving the room.

The woman seemed to follow him, closing the door behind her. Just in case, she continued to pretend she was asleep for a little longer until she could not hear footsteps in the aisle.

All she could thought was 'I have to get out of here.' She did not understand why she still had that unsettled feeling. Perhaps because she did not recognize that place or those voices. This time, slowly, she raised the sheet... Great! She was wearing only a T-shirt much bigger than she, worn out, and an underwear. She scanned the room, looking for a closet, trunk, basket or whatever, something else to wear just to see the obvious: there was not even a pair of shoes.

As the sheet was worn too, she easily tore it out and wrapped it around her waist. It was not perfect for running and climbing a wall if necessary, but it was better than nothing.

She put her feet out of bed first. Bit by bit, she lifted her upper body. The headache was still there, but now it reduced a little bit and was even bearable. She would settle it later with that massage in the hand she had learned ... had learned from whom? The white fog again... Quickly, she put aside that anguish. She would think about it later. Now she had important things to do: get out there.

She raised her hands to the top of her head and began unrolling the bandage. At the end, she ran her fingers gently at the base of her head where she found one, two, three, four stitches and again the pain in the swollen points. With the bandage, she tied her hair in a pony tail, took a deep breath, and got up slowly.

Afraid of falling to the ground, she leaned on the bed until her legs were steady and took the first step. Dizziness, as if someone had taken the floor off her feet. Trying to hold onto the bed's edge, she bumped her arm that threw the water's basin on the floor with clatter.

The next second, she heard the door open behind her with a crash. Strong arms tried to lift her, and a female voice exclaimed:

"Are you nuts? Where do you think you could go?"

A thin, brown woman, looking about fifties years old and gray hair at her temples, looked at her with dark eyes that seemed to see through her soul.

"Were you trying to get away?" she continued after noticing the sheet wrapped around her waist, staring even closer at hers.

She could not hold the woman's gaze for a long time, so she turned away, looking down at the floor. The other woman put her legs on the bed and adjusted the pillow so that she would lie back.

"Well, at least the stitches are tight" She said, after sliding her fingers gently behind her head. Perhaps, for the first time noticing her confusion, she sat on the edge of the bed and softened her expression, gently taking her hand. "Keep calm. Everything will be okay. You're safe."

"Where am I? Who are you?" she asked, speaking for the first time. Her husky voice caused strangeness.

The woman seemed to be taken by surprise after those questions. For a few seconds, her dark eyes studied her again as if searching for something she did not know exactly what it was. But soon she recovered herself, and with a long sigh she returned:

"What do you remember?"

It was so hard to say... again the forgetfulness and the silence of her mind were the only answers that made tears come involuntarily into her eyes.

"Nothing..." she mumbled. "I don't remember anything. Just waking up here..." fidgeting her hands in her lap, she noticed several small scars on her arms. Small cuts of which she had no idea how she got them. "No matter how hard I try, I cannot remember anything at all ... Not even my name..."

Bending her shoulders, she sobbed what made her head ache as hell. The old woman seemed touched, and she held her hand and rubbed her back with the other one.

"Easy...Easy...Everything is going to be okay. You've gone through a lot of things, you've had an ugly blow on your head."

The young woman sobbed while spasms took hold of her body. When she was finally tired, she leaned back on the pillow and closed her eyes. That could only be a nightmare! She hopped that once she opened her eyes again, that would be over. But no. She was in the same small room with peeling and dampness walls with that woman who looked at her with compassion for the first time.

"Clara. Your name is Clara." she said, laying one of her hands over hers. "And my name is Nana."

"Clara?" she repeated slowly, as if digesting that name.

'So, my name is Clara?' she thought, but as thousand times before, only forgetfulness and silence were the answer. She did not feel uncomfortable with the name, in fact, she felt anything... just the anguish and the need to feel safe with anything, anywhere. By the way, how had she gone there? What had happened before?

"You don't remember anything at all, do you?" Nana was staring at her as if she could guess what was going on inside her with those black eyes.

"No." She replied fiercely and facing up Nana's penetrating gaze for the first time. "Just waking up here."

"Well, in this case we have a lot to talk about ... But not now. I have other things to do. I'll leave you to rest. Try to sleep a little more. I'll come back later to bring your dinner." She picked up the basin and cloth from the floor and walked to the door. When she got there, she turned. "And don't try to get up for now. You will not even get to this door and you still risk hitting your head and opening the wound. As much as I'm good at it, I don't want to stitch your head again."

Nana closed the door and slid a bolt outside, living Clara alone with her own thoughts. Arrested and with a million unanswered questions in her head, tormenting her and making her unable to sleep.

Looking down, she saw several books under the tin used as bedside table. One of those had been left lying on the edge of her bed when Nana had bent down to arrange things.

Clara reached out her arm struggling against the pain hammering in the head and got hold of the volume. She leaned back on the pillow, and read the title: World Geographic Atlas, Issue 2013. She noticed that it was yellowish, and its cover and pages were wrinkled, likely due to water or humidity. Leafing through the book, she saw continents and countries beyond oceans and seas. Where would she be amid so much land? Probably not much than a tiny point on this immensity...