(Idea for this story Inspired by Blackoutballad's Street Tier designs on Tumblr. Check them out here: tagged/streettier.)
His name was John Egbert. Yes, that was definitely it. It had to be. There was no way that he could think of being called anything else. He was sixteen years old, and one hundred percent sure of it. The number stood proudly in the nearly empty recesses of his memory, next to a date: April fourteenth. It was undeniable that he loved pranking. That fact could never be lost to him, no matter what, nor how he loved movies. These were all statements that defined John, and ones that were immutably true.
The problem was, there was nothing else. His head was like a bookshelf that had been cleared of all of its cover-bound residents. Yes, there were still volumes of subjects that he could only assume he'd learned in the years past, but not one story book left on the shelf meant for his identity. All that remained was a photo album, and a note which told him the bare minimum of who he was. The album contained an assortment of scattered memories. There was a warm summer's day in a park, a game of catch with a friend, and even a family dinner. However, none of the people had faces or names to define them.
Strangely, John didn't find this scary. On the contrary, he was fascinated by the idea of finding out who he was.
There was no way to tell how long he'd been awake. He had just suddenly started having conscious thoughts and it progressed from there. The first sense to return was touch, and holy shit did he feel horrible. Almost all of the muscles in his body were sore and aching, and it wasn't long before he determined the reason. He was lying on the ground, which was rough and damp, on his back. One of his hands was submerged in a puddle, and the other was being sniffed by some small creature, most likely a rat. He slowly moved them so they were pushing him into a sitting position, leaning against what he hoped was just a wall. The good news was that he felt clothing covering his chest, lower body, and feet, so he didn't have to worry about being naked.
Next came a blast of three senses, two of which he wished would've stayed asleep. The sound of dripping filled the air, of water droplets rolling off of high places and splatting on a surface. The drops echoed off of the metal surface behind him, which he deduced was a dumpster by the awful smell of rotting garbage. It was so thick that he practically gagged on the taste it left in his mouth. His day just got a hell of a lot worse.
With nothing else to give him a sense of his surroundings, he opened his eyes. It was dark, but not so much that he couldn't see. He was in a wide back alley that dead-ended a few yards in front of him. The walls were made of faded bricks covered in spots of mold. Above him was an extended ladder leading to an aged metal fire escape. The buildings on either side of the space rose up to at least six stories, with a few windows and one door for each on the ground level leading into the alley. Probably for taking out the trash or something like that. Speaking of garbage, he turned his body to lean on the wall to his right and confirmed that yes, that was a dumpster he was next to. Now that he wasn't facing the dead end anymore, he could see a small amount of light slipping past the garbage containment unit, presumably from a street lamp. He also found himself face-to-face with a mirror with a large crack running down its center.
In the reflection, he saw himself. He had thick black hair that sat in a mess on his had and deep blue eyes that seemed to shine even in the dim light. His skin was a pale shade and he wore rectangle-shaped glasses. His legs were long and shielded from the wet stone beneath him by a pair of jeans that were just as blue as his eyes. In fact, blue seemed to be the key color for almost his entire wardrobe, save for the yellow bases of his high-top shoes. The shirt he wore was as dark of a blue as possible without it being black and it had a baby-blue design on it. It was two thick curving lines, one on top of the other divided by about and inch of space. The pattern made him think of a cartoony gust of wind.
He felt the gentle, tiny whiskers on his right hand again and looked down to see a black rat. It cautiously sniffed his skin for any signs of food, then lifted its tiny head to gaze at him. He gave a small chuckle.
"Hello, little guy," he said, surprised by his unfamiliarity with the sound of his own voice. So weird. "You wouldn't, by any chance, know where I am, would you?" The rodent's face remained blank for a second before it scurried away. "I'll take that as a no."
He could see no other reason to remain sitting next to a dumpster that smelled like it hadn't been emptied in weeks, so he decided it was time to start moving. Retracting his legs until his knees were pointing up, he set each of his hands firmly on the ground. With a good push, he rocked forward onto his feet and steadied himself. Finally, he extended his legs until he was standing at his full height. His muscles disagreed with the action, still too sore from being on the uncomfortable ground for god knows how long. His first few steps were a little shaky, causing him to hold onto the wall. Eventually, he manage to exit the alley without stumbling like an idiot.
Protruding from the sidewalk a yard away from the opening of the alley was a large metal pole that bent at the top with an orange light at the end. It was one in a million lining the road, but one of the few that weren't broken. The street was four lanes across and extended in both directions for as far as John could see, with bright traffic lights hanging over it at each intersection. Both the asphalt and the sidewalks on either side of it were wide enough for heavy traffic, but there was not a car or soul in sight.
John guessed that this was a residential area by the multitude of apartment buildings around him. He looked into the window of the building on his right to see an old vacancy sign. It looked like it had accumulated a thick layer of dust from the days it spent broadcasting its message to the world.
"I wonder if there's anyone around here at all," he wondered out loud as he began to walk on the left side of the road.
While he strolled along the pavement, he looked up at the sky. It was covered by an inky layer of black clouds that looked like they were ready to pour down rain, but never did. There were also thousands of inexplicable lights dancing beneath them. What were those, anyway? They were too far away from John to see them clearly.
His gazed drifted back down when he caught a change of lighting in his peripheral vision. He had come to an intersection, the traffic lights above it lit with green and not changing any time soon. To his left was a small building amongst the giants, with a line of class facing out into both roads. There was a neon sign above the front door that read "Salamander Diner," and had a moving form of a yellow creature with two legs that blew a big blue bubble over and over again. The windows were blurry, but light still shown through them, so John knew it was open. Maybe I can persuade someone inside to help me out, John thought before opening the door and stepping inside.
The inside was brighter, causing John to squint as he stepped onto the tiled floors. The tiles were like a mural of dark blue islands and black rivers separating them. The walls were painted with more of those yellow creatures that John assumed were supposed to be salamanders. They were farming tiny blue mushrooms, some wearing crumpled hats or cloaks with funny ghost patterns on them. Up against the three outer walls next to the windows were yellow booths with wooden tables. Straight across from John was a long breakfast bar with ten or twelve rotating stools, behind which was a wall dividing the kitchen and eating areas. A giant menu hung above the order station, displaying mushroom smoothies, burgers, fries, and other food items that made John's stomach growl. How long had it been since he'd eaten?
The door must've been attached to some kind of bell in the back, because it only took a few seconds for a girl to come out of the kitchen to greet him. She had long blonde hair smoothed back into a ponytail, light skin, and strange orange eyes. John could only see the top half of her body, the four-foot-high counter cutting the view off at her stomach. She wore a yellow shirt with another one of those salamanders on it and a silver nametag that simply said "Casey." She chewed a piece of light blue gum that she used to blow a huge bubble, giggling when it popped. She looked about a year younger than John.
"Welcome to the Salamander Diner," she said with a cheerful voice. "My name's Casey. What can I do for you?"
"Um, hey," John mumbled awkwardly. "Do you have a bathroom I can use."
Without hesitation, she pointed around the side of the bar. "Right back there. You can't miss it."
After using the toilet and washing his hands, which were probably filthy from the time they'd spent on the ground, he looked in the mirror. He wondered how you ask someone if they know who you are, or where you are, in a normal conversation. Meh, he'd just wing it.
Casey was still there where he had left her, waiting behind the counter. This time, however, she had a sly grin across her pearly white teeth as she chewed. "Did I mention that the bathrooms are for customers only?" she questioned in mock innocence.
John stopped and looked at her in disbelief. "What? But I don't have any money!"
She burst out laughing, clutching her sides as she shook in glee. John was starting to get nervous when she calmed down enough to speak, "Hahaha, Glub.I was just joking, silly! But the look on your face? Priceless!"
John cautiously approached the bar and took a seat on one of the stools, looking at her with a slight smile. "Heh, I guess you're right. That was a good prank." And it was. He was a guy who knew the spirit of pranking well, even though he wasn't sure why.
"So," Casey said, leaning back against the wall. "What are you doing out so late at night?"
John shook his head. "I wish I knew."
Casey seemed to consider his answer for a second, blowing another large bubble with her gum. It popped, and she looked at him with interest. "That's not a really good answer. Nobody just 'goes out' at-" she looked at the clock on the wall. "-two A.M. in LOWAS. It's dangerous, you know?"
LOWAS? The name didn't ring a bell in his head, but that didn't really surprise him. He rubbed his eyes with his palms and sighed. "What's so dangerous? I was walking around out there for half an hour and nothing happened."
"I cannot believe what I am hearing!" she stated, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Didn't your parents tell you about the things that prowl the streets at night? It's something even little kids know about!"
"What? You mean like rabid dogs and gangs?"
"No," a voice said from behind him. "She means monsters."