Where Was I Going With This?

I was cleaning my room recently and started sorting through some old school work. I've done this before and I usually find random pieces of writing, like the beginnings to stories that I never bothered to develop. A lot of times, I've got a general idea of where the story was going, and when I discover them months or years later, I remember. So it wasn't weird that this happened this time. This opening, though, is particularly interesting, and I really wish I could remember what on earth I was thinking:

Nobody told me it was going to be like this. When you volunteer for this sort of thing, you don't exactly sign a waiver that lets you know you'll be sitting on your butt, shivering to the bones, hungry and exhausted in a damp, dark, cold cell thirty feet underneath what was supposed to be the vacation of a lifetime.

But here I am.

That was ninth grade. I honestly can't even begin to reinvent some storyline to go with that beginning, and the more I think about it, the more I wonder if there even was a story that went with it. Did I even know what I was writing when I was writing it? It's a distinct possibility that I didn't. I'm going to keep wondering, though.