Clarissa woke up and didn’t know where she was, or in whose bed she had woken up in. She remembered falling asleep in her own bed after a few glasses of wine while watching the season finale of Grey’s Anatomy. It was a particularly tough episode to watch, as most of the finales of that show are, and wine was very important. She looked from one corner of the bed to the other not recognising the particular arrangement of the vases and the cupboards and the rest.

She knew she hadn’t gone to someone else’s place, nor had she gone to a bar; she hadn’t drunk dialled anyone, because she wasn’t drunk – as far as she could remember, the bottle was still half full.

She looked outside and didn’t recognise where she was; the terrain seemed alien to her. She didn’t recognise the street outside, she didn’t recognise the type of houses, hell, she didn’t even recognise the foliage outside, nor the smell of her new locale. Her surroundings weren’t familiar to her, and yet her things were here, just the house seemed different. Her slippers were at the side of her bed; her robe on the hanger; glasses on the bed side table; and her earrings from yesterday.

Where am I? she said, but no sound emanated from her mouth. She only heard her voice inside her head and it sounded strange. What is this?

She closed her eyes, and opened them again, and then, as if it were a momentary delusion, everything was back to normal.