Simplicity

You start to do so, but find you just can't. Not because there's little to write with, naught but stubs of chalk, graphite, pens, on the ground, but for a far darker reason, you cannot recall your name, your home, what year it is, what crime you've committed, or were said to have committed. For that matter, you can recall just one or two glimmers of anything before this darkness, but they are vital glimmers nonetheless.

The female voice cries again, but whether closer or farther you can't tell. Then you shudder, and it's not because you recognize it now. A sudden fit of shuddering, you don't recognize who or what you are. Or do you not what to?
Uncertain, your hand gropes to one thing that you do know, and you're reassured.