The room is large, with white walls and white floor. The room is empty, and cold.
The forest is old, and large pine trees grow in the dark, silent forest. The air is damp and laden with sorrow.
The narrow path windles down between the trees, sometimes disapearing behind a large boulder, only to appear again a few feet further ahead.
The rapids are white withe froth, and the cold water navigates the gorge among the scattered rocks.
The empty PET-bottle lacks visible markings, but it resembles a bottle you saw several years ago, a coca-cola bottle.
The metal-key is darkened by oxidisation, as it has been left in the woods for many years. It looks like a key to a padlock.