Chapter 1

My eyes burned as I opened them. Blinding sunlight streamed through the green leaves of trees as birds chirped in the distance. I was on the ground, grass prickling my back through my shirt. The air was warm, and a tree towered over my head. It felt like I had just woken up from a weird dream, but I couldn't remember what the dream was about.

...what...?

I tried to sit up, but immediately yelped and fell back when I was met with intense pain. My right arm could barely move, and my back was begging me to lay still. In an effort to avoid pain, I slowly rolled over and used my other arm to push myself off of the ground and onto my knees. I simultaneously eased myself upright and took a deep breath of fresh air, and then set my left foot firmly on the ground. Excruciating pain shot through my leg, and a cry of pain flowed through grit teeth. The bark of the tree in front of me jabbed into my hand as I grabbed it for support. With a swift motion, I planted my right foot and transferred my weight to it. I took another deep breath and sighed in relief. Seconds after, I became aware of something that was traveling down my temple. Standing up, I released my grip on the tree and brushed my hand off on my jeans before bringing it to my temple. When I drew it back, the tips of my index, middle and ring fingers were wet with red.

Blood...

I twisted around and scanned my surroundings. My legs soon followed. The tree I woke up under was on the edge of a clearing surrounded by a mass of trees that extended as far as I could see. Clusters of brush and undergrowth had rooted themselves in the spaces in between each trunk. In the center of the clearing, about four metres away from me, was a car. It was red, small with two doors(likely designated in the compact vehicle class), had been smashed in on the driver's side, and sat flipped on its roof; the definite result of an accident. From where I stood, its edges appeared blurred and undefined. Nothing about the sight was familiar, but that wasn't the most troubling thing. I had absolutely no memory of coming here. I could vaguely remember being in a public place with someone of significance, but between then and now was a big blank slate. The car added to the mystery, and presented another all its own. It was possible that my condition was connected to the wreck, that I had been an occupant, but then why did I wake up under a tree?

Did someone drag me here? Or is there no connection after all?

Grass stood undamaged, not that the densely packed trees would've allowed the car into the clearing to begin with. The lack of an overhanging cliff eliminated an additional explanation. It appeared that some omnipotent being had reached down and moved it to this location. Far fetched, yes, but for whatever reason it felt like it was in the realm of possibility.

I called out, hoping that someone was lying in wait and would come running upon realizing that I was conscious. Nothing. The idea that an unconscious individual was in the vehicle popped into my head. They would need my help and benefit from speedy assistance. Then after that, we could work our way out of this predicament. Wiping the blood on my jeans, I stepped forward and was swiftly reminded of my handicap. After a moment, I placed my left foot ahead of me and then hopped forward in a way that avoided putting any strain on my leg. With the test run complete, I repeated the process.

I was bombarded with sunlight upon limp-hopping out from under the tree's canopy. It instantly heated my skin to an almost uncomfortable temperature. I glanced up briefly. The sun was fairly high in the sky, and judging by the shadows, it was either late morning or early afternoon, I couldn't determine which.

When I reached the deformed automobile, I painfully got down on my knees and stuck my head in through the contorted driver side window. Shattered glass mixed in with the car's contents, which were scattered on the ceiling. The grey unoccupied front seats had been shoved into the gray-blue headliner and accompanying sunroof. I spoke a half-hearted "Hello?" as I turned my head to find an equally empty back seat. A sensation washed over me as the facts sank in: I was alone, injured, and in a foreign environment with a gapping hole in my memory. My eyes moved to the cloth headliner below me, blinded by a snowstorm of bad endings. Then, as I pushed it away, I realized I had been staring down at a cell phone. Invigorated, I picked it up. It was a black and silver slider-type cell-phone with the letters 'LG' printed just under the receiving speaker. Below the letters was a rectangular screen with four symbols at the bottom of it, and below that were two circular buttons. The left button had a green shape that looked like the outline of a square that had been horizontally cut in half and then propped up on one side to give the illusion that it was leaning to the right. The right button was a mirror image of the left, except it was red and had a small circle underneath with a vertical line within it. I withdrew my head from the vehicle, and then slid the keyboard out. The screen came to life, and provided two options: a vibrating cell-phone, and a padlock. Sliding the keyboard back in, I selected the padlock and the screen revealed an obstacle. Displayed were twelve rectangles in the form of a keypad; numbers one through nine taking up the top nine, the letters OK, the number zero and the letters DEL taking up the bottom three. The words 'Enter password to unlock' were at the top of the screen. There was no hint, meaning that anything I entered was pure guesswork and most definitely wrong. The screen soon dimmed and went black. Pushing the Power button relit the screen, and I was again met with the keypad. This time, however, I noticed a tiny rectangular box displayed underneath it. It had a red plus sign and the words 'Emergency call' on it. I pushed my thumb down on the rectangle and, for a moment, the screen displayed 'Calling '911'', only to show a full screen battery status; a single, red flashing bar at the bottom end of an outline. The screen blackened shortly after, followed by a harrowing moment of distress. Pressing the button a second time produced the same outline, a damning confirmation. I breathed, but felt out of breath; I was outside, but felt trapped in an enclosed space. I needed to walk away, I needed fresh air, and if my leg wasn't borderline useless, I would've obliged and walked to the other end of the clearing to think things over. Instead, I knelt there pressing the power button over and over again, and it wasn't helping. Then my mind clicked.

There's probably another one in there.

I eased myself into the stuffy car, making sure not to cut myself on any glass, and almost immediately uncovered a blue and silver flip phone that was hiding under a white sheet of paper. I fumbled with it, flipping it open to reveal a blank screen. Pressing random buttons on the keypad got no response, so I tossed it aside and continued sifting. Seconds later, I was doing a preliminary search of the backseat. The collision had pushed the seats closer together, making it impossible to fit through the now rather slim gap. Given that the seats were also jammed into the headliner, likely acting as support columns, moving them wouldn't be an easy or safe option. If I was going to exert myself and risk my safety, it would be for a damn good reason. So, I was bobbing my head every which way, trying to get the best possible viewing angles, my back protesting the entire time. As luck would have it, there, sitting on the tinted rear windshield with its side resting on the jutting edge of the headliner, was a cell phone. Without hesitation, I slid my arm through the hole between the headrests in a vain attempt to reach it. Withdrawing my arm, I glanced around and picked up a shard of glass. It was safety glass; the kind that shatters when broken, but sticks together when in small enough chunks. The edges were already breaking off in my hand. I wasted no time sticking my arm back through the hole, lining up a shot, and giving the glass a throw. It didn't travel far, about the length of a VHS tape, landing on the headliner with a soft thud and tinkle of loose glass. I made attempts to pick it back up, but it kept breaking apart into small useless pieces.

"Fuck," I muttered. Withdrawing my arm again, I sucked in air and sighed. I looked around. There was an empty water bottle, a sheet of paper, and a bunch of hard candies that had spilled out from a half open ashtray in the center console. Nothing throw-worthy. Then my eyes met the door for the glove compartment. I crawled over to it and pinched the latch. The door jumped open, dumping a mass of papers, CD cases, and plastic utensils in a mound on the headliner. Despite expecting something like that, I couldn't help but jerk my hand back in surprise. Once the avalanche settled, I dug out the CD cases and set them in tower next to the hole. Getting back into position, I grabbed a CD case, slid it between the seats, took aim, and threw. It smacked into the glass to the right of my target and tumbled down onto the headliner. Arm out, slide case between seats, take aim, throw. This time the case hit the glass above my target, and, by some miracle, dislodge the phone on its way down. The two items briefly tumbled along the headliner before coming to a stop. I stuck my arm in up to my shoulder, blindly feeling about.

Glass... Ah, th- no, CD case...

When I brushed against something cold, I patted down where I thought I had felt it. Nothing. I patted around some more until I finally had my hand on it. Clutching it firmly, I pulled my arm out. The flip-phone I held was red with black accents. It was longer, thinner, and sleeker than the other one; definitely a newer model. Further fumbling resulted in the phone following the rule of gravity. My left hand wasn't injured, but it was awkward and didn't feel all that useful. Holding the phone up on its side, I wedged my thumb into the crease and finally flipped it open. I then snatched it up, and was pleasantly surprised to find that the battery was at full charge. A relieved exhale escaped my mouth alongside a "Ah, thank fucking god". While revelling in my luck, I noticed that neither the date nor the time were displayed, but it was the least of my concerns. Dialling 911, I lifted the phone to my ear and waited for it to ring, but it didn't. Instead, it made a 'Boop' sound. I lowered the phone to find that the words 'No signal' were displayed. Dialling again returned the same result.

Disappointment washed over me, made worse by my premature celebration. I knelt there feeling defeated; my mind brooding. Then my mind clicked. If I was going to get out of this, I would have to set out in search of help, and be smart about it. Grabbing the bottle on my left, I spun around counter-clockwise and set both it and the phone down on the cracked glass of the sun-roof; the bottle, currently intent to wander, would be useful for when I found a source of water. Then I took a handful of hard candies, and dropped them onto the glass with barely a glance as I turned toward the mound. They landed with the typical crinkle of wrappers and the sound of candies scattering on the glass, but also with an atypical metal on glass sound. I paused for a moment as my brain registered the oddity, before turning back to investigate. A small, flat and round object lay on the glass surrounded by candies; one such candy sat on top of it. Picking the object up, I looked it over.

It wasn't really a circle; it was more like an octagon on overdrive. There were many sides, all of which were of equal length to each other. This produced the illusion of a circle. The bronze surface was dull from years of changing hands. One side had the image of a duck swimming in a lake carved into its face, accompanied by some lettering. The other had the carving of a woman and was also accompanied by lettering. Strangely, the year of manufacture had been visibly filed off. Sliding it into my pocket, I moved to the mound and began rummaging through it. There were napkins, a tree-shaped car freshener and two taillight bulbs that were still in their respective packaging, a folder of leathery plastic containing receipts and an owners manual, a small collection of plastic spoons and forks ranging in design and color, and two paperback map books, each about the width of a light novel. I snatched up a map book and flipped through the pages back to front. Most of it was close-ups of developed areas, all devoid of large sections of wilderness. Then as I neared the front cover, where I honestly should have started to begin with, the maps covered bigger and bigger areas. Finally, I had something useable: a two page map of a large area spanning around fifty square kilometres. Printed on this map was a large city entangled with many sub-cities, with coastline to the West and South and masses of woodland big enough to get lost in to the North and East. Slapping the book closed, I set it down on the head liner and sent it sliding toward the sunroof with a good push. Turning back to the mound, I grabbed a couple of thin napkins and began to clean the blood from my forehead. The first wipe got most of it, coloring a significant portion of the napkins crimson. Folding the napkins over twice, I raised them for a second wipe using a dryer side. I winced as the napkins brushed against the wound. With a toss, the napkin flew over the mound and landed on the other side, after which, the momentum rolled it about a half-dozen centimetres closer to the door. I drew my attention back to the mound. There wasn't anything else in it that I could use, except for maybe a plastic fork.

I could use it to defend myself, I reasoned. That's laughable, I know, but if the situation called for it, something in a fight was better than nothing. Under that logic, the light bubs could also have been useful. The same goes for the CD cases I'd been throwing earlier, but I didn't consider those at the time. Picking up a simple white fork, I quickly examined it for any damage before tossing it onto the sunroof. Crawling over to my scavenged supply pile, I looked over what I'd gathered. Most of it I could transport easily. Grabbing a handful of the candies, I straightened up as much as possible given the lacking headroom, something my aching back didn't appreciate, and stuffed them into my left pocket, bending back down to the collect the escapees. With those tucked away, I grabbed the fork and straightened up once more, sliding it tightly into the same pocket. Bending down again, I took hold of the bottle and lightly tossed it towards the window. It rolled on the headliner, each end bouncing independent of each other, rebounded off the dented and splitting plastic that outlined the door, and bounce some more as it rolled over to the headrest of the driver's seat, where it came to a rest. I gave it an annoyed look, sharply exhaling through my nose in amusement at the oddity that physics is at times. I then picked up the yellow map book and proceeded to give it a calculated toss out the window. It landed flat on the grass with a thump and some flutter of its pages. Raising the phone from the glass, I gripped it tightly and began crawling out of the wreck. As I reached the window, a realization hit me. "Right. The trunk." Leaving the phone next to the window, I inspected the interior for a lever or push button release for the trunk, but found nothing. I returned to the window, tossing the bottle out onto the grass and clutching the phone in my hand. After crawling out, I slowly stood up with my hand on the wreckage for leverage. Then I turned around and moved to the back of the car.

The trunk was securely shut. Where a handle would be was instead a light for illuminating the license plate; speaking of which, there was not plate. I furrowed my brow, wondering why it was absent. An emblem for the vehicle's manufacturer was fixed above (or below, rather) the indentation meant to house the plate. A pivot point was in the emblem's bottom right (or top left) corner, permitting it to spin clockwise to a diagonal, revealing a keyhole. I hadn't seen any keys in the car. The trunk was a bust. I retreated to the window, looked down at the bottle and book, and then up at the sky. It appeared unchanged, with no clear indication of the sun's progress in its course. There was no way for me to determine which direction was which, deeming the map book useless. Not like I can take it, anyways, I realised, only have one hand. Easing myself to my knees, I lifted the book and tossed it back through the window. It tumbled and crashed on the headliner. Clamping the bottle's neck between my index and middle fingers, I eased back to my feet, with the side of my hand against the car for support. That's when I noticed it: the car felt clean. I glance around at the surrounding panels and the massive dent, and saw that there was no rust or ingrained grime on the car. It hadn't been here for very long. It reminded me of the dilemma regarding my possible relation to the vehicle.

That's not important right now. I returned to the task at hand, scanning the surrounding woods, from left to right, for anything of note. It didn't take long for me to spot an anomaly on my right. It was blurry, but definitely there: a gap in the trees. The front of the car was pointing right at it. I limp-hopped over to it, and found that it was the beginning of a dirt path weaving through the trees. I looked back one last time to ensure I didn't miss anything obvious before embarking down the road to the unknown.

I stopped next to a tree and placed my hand against it. After a quick breather, I pinned the dry bottle between my legs, flipped open the phone and began moving it around in the vain hope that it would result in at least one bar. Unsuccessful, I flipped it shut again and rested for a few more moments before unpinning the bottle and continuing onward. That had become my routine over the past while.

That's, what, two or three hours now? Judging from the pale blue sky just visible through the branches and leaves above and the amber sunlight barely penetrating the canopy, it had been at least that long. Another stop was required minutes later. I was growing weary. Thirst and hunger were unwelcome companions. My right leg was vibrating from the limp-hopping and extra strain, and my back had grown stiff. At a prior point, I had decided to try a hard candy. The green translucent wrapper had unravelled with ease, and the white oval was popped into my mouth and then spit out immediately after. I had crumpled up the wrapper and deposited it in my pocket for later disposal. Going through the motions continued the unlucky streak of getting any reception. I now knew which direction West was in, as part of the sky was brighter than the rest, but I had concluded that following the path was a better idea than wandering off into the wilderness, despite my worries. I didn't want to think about it, but I was starting to doubt that the path would lead to where I was hoping it would, that I was traveling in the complete opposite direction of civilization or that I was lost in a remote area; the plausibility that it was all a goose chase. I knew what would happen if I didn't find help soon, but I wasn't going to let it happen willingly. At the very least I wasn't traveling up hill; it was the opposite, actually. The ground was steadily climbing down at a low but noticeable grade.

Eventually, I gave up hunting for a cell signal; I slid the phone into my right pocket and focused on simply trudging along. Not long after, the ground levelled out. Then, as I rounded a left bend in the path, something changed. I stopped in my tracks and turned my head to the trees. For a brief moment, I could swear that I'd seen a bright- something -that greatly contrasted with my drab and dimly lit surroundings. Slowly retracing my steps, I stared into the dim woods, straining my eyes in search of it. Then there it was, a tiny spec peeking out from behind a shadowed cluster of trees off in the distance. It hung no more than a metre above the ground. I stood there, puzzled. Was it a light trick? A coincidental marvel of the world? I glanced around. The light that this 'something' was reflecting definitely didn't come from my direction, so where was it coming from?

The sky? I immediately shot down my own suggestion. It was early evening, and the trees were too packed together to let in sufficient sunlight. A flashlight? It seemed likely, until it occurred to me that I wasn't shielding my eyes; and who would hang a flashlight from a tree, anyway? I debated wandering from the path to investigate. There was a chance that it was a signal of civilization, or an item left behind by a hiker which would aide in my search. Leaving the path, however, presented the risk of not being able to return to it, among others. I'd have to push through bushes and other brush, some probably with thorns, and deal with the possibility of snakes and the likelihood of spiders. I could fall down an unseen ditch or hole that would further injure me. At the end of it, I'd likely find that it was all for nothing, but simply moving onward down the path would leave it nagging my brain, and once I'd reached the end of my road, I'd say to myself that 'I should've checked it out.' It was all hypothetical, my voice of caution in the face of uncertainly.

I took some deep breaths, attempting to prepare myself, and then limped to the edge of the path, where I hesitated. Before me was a sizable bush up to my torso in height. There wasn't a way around it. Anything can be in there. With a few more deep breaths, I painfully hugged my right arm and began to force my way through. The branches bent and snapped, digging their thorns into my clothes. I winced, making sounds of pain through grit teeth. Soon, I was on the other side, but the bush still had its claws in me; it was tugging at my shirt and jeans, preventing me from advancing.

"Get. Off." I muttered, kicking my legs free. I stumbled forward, nearly falling over. After a quick breather, I proceeded to spend the next minute or so removing the loose thorns and branches from my clothing. When I was done, I looked around. It wasn't as dark as it had appeared from the path; it was still dim, but I could see fairly well. Moss, along with other woodland debris, covered the uneven ground, swallowing up fallen, rotting wood and climbing up the sides of the trees. There was a surprising lack of brush. Aside from the tress, the only plants were struggling sapling shoots dotted here and there. The spec was still visible, peering at me. I twisted my torso to look back at the bush and, in turn, the path that was more exposed to the faint sunlight. It seemed like a straight shot. I began moving toward the spec, but stopped after a mere step. Something was jabbing my foot below the ankle. I immediately bent down to fish out the sneaky thorn that had slipped into my shoe, a move that my back wasn't too fond of. "Ooow," I groaned. Once the pain faded, I evicted the thorn from its new abode and slowly straighten myself. Exhaling in relief, I continued forward, watching the ground and my every step. I glanced up periodically to ensure that I was still on course. The closer I got to the spec, the bigger it got. Before I knew it, I was looking at a rooftop partially obscured my a faraway tree.

Is that...? My thoughts were cut off by the swoosh of a passing car. At first I was stunned, then I was overjoyed. A relieved chuckle escaped my mouth. I'd done it; I'd made the right choice and was going to make it. I picked up my pace to the best of my ability. The trees were thinning out. More buildings were coming into view. "Almost there," I whispered between breaths. Suddenly, the ground cut steeply downward and I practically ran my face into a green chain link fence as I fell forward and braced myself against it. There was a road on the other side running parallel to a set of fenced off train tracks. Both were routes to the nearby civilization; there just had to be a fence. Climbing wasn't something I could effectively do in my condition, but without any visible way around it I was forced to do just that.

I gave the bottle a descent toss up over the fence. It bounced on the pavement and rolled a short distance before coming to a stop. Awkwardly wrapping my fingers around the wires, I dug the toe of my shoe into one of the diamonds and heaved myself upward. I then slowly migrated my fingers up the fence without fully letting go. After gaining enough distance, I again heaved myself upward, quickly dislodging my shoe and luckily jamming it into another diamond. It continued like this until I reached the top, where I sat for a brief rest, straddling the top bar. The decent was quick and reckless. I'd intended to lower myself using the same method that had gotten me to the top, but I lost my footing and spun around, smacking my side into the fence and twisting my arm. I released my grip on the fence and landed rough, stumbling and almost falling to my knees. By some miracle I was still standing, and I was glad it was done and over with, but with one problem solved in came another; the street was deserted. With the car long gone, it was just an aging road running alongside some railroad tracks. I could still see nearby houses, their details blurred together, but they were a fair distance away and on the other side of the tracks. There was no way I could climb another two fences; I'd have to walk around. Turning left, I started limping down the road. I only made it a few steps. My vision was blurred, I had a killer headache, and my leg throbbed in pain.

Phone... I pressed my back against the fence and reached into my pocket. Once I'd successfully fished out the phone, I tried to flip it open. My hand shook as its injured muscles tried to wedge a thumb into the crease. Finally, it open and I attempted to call for help again, but this time it rang. I raised the phone to my ear, which was soon met with the recording of a woman's voice that was speaking in a language other than English. My hand fell down to my side, and I felt the phone slip out of my grasp. A loud clatter followed. This was it. I was screwed, dead in the water, finished.

I'm not sure how long I stood there, leaning against that fence. It could have been for a minute, it could have been for an hour, or however long it takes for a train to come and go at least once, but soon enough a sudden noise reached my ear; a sharp intake of air. I barely had the strength to turn my head in the direction of the noise, but I managed to, and I saw a girl. She stood to my left, barely a metre away. Her face, jaw loose and dark eyes wide, told me shock. She had short brown hair that barely reached her shoulders; in it was some kind of hair band or ribbon that was yellow in colour. The blouse was white with sleeve ends and a V-shaped collar of purple and blue; a sequence of stripes, blue purple blue. Showing through the open collar was... I don't know. Maybe it was an undershirt, or part of the blouse, or something. It was mostly light blue, with a white stripe near the top and a deformed purple 'M' near the bottom. Attached to the bottom of the V-collar was a red ribbon tied into a bow. The blouse was tucked into a loose blue skirt. Long, dark brown socks climbed her legs and stopped below her knees; brown, lace-less shoes encased her feet. A rectangular, dull blue bag hung from her shoulder by dual black straps. It wasn't a purse, it didn't look right. Her whole appearance struck a cord, as if I had seen her somewhere before.

She stared for a few moments, then her expression became one of concern. Words left her mouth. I couldn't understand what she said, but it sounded like a question.

"Do you speak English?" Her expression changed again, confusion one second, recognition the next.

"A little bit." She stated though a thick accent. I sighed in relief.

"Call '911'." I kept it simple.

She gave me a look that said, 'I don't get it.'

"Ambulance." I stated urgently.

"Ah." Unzipping her bag, she reached in and pulled out a cell-phone. She began dialling, but stopped; looking past me, she spoke again. It sounded like another question.

Who is she-

I turned my head to see what she was looking at, and got a glance of something silver that was centimetres away from me. There hadn't been anything there beforehand. I jumped back, more like sideways; a bad move. My leg gave out. As I fell, I caught a glimpse of what had been next to me: a girl with silver hair wearing the exact same outfit. The awareness that silver hair was ridiculous crossed my mind, but I was more occupied with bracing for impact. I roughed up my elbow and banged my head on the pavement, hard. Writhing in pain, I had the notion that I was supposed to be better on my feet than that. Trying to write it off, I began pushing myself off the ground, but the world spun out from under me.

I was sitting at a table in a small room. Two men were on the other side of the table. One was sitting in the chair across from me and the other was in the process of dragging a chair over for himself. A light brown folder had been placed on the table.

When I woke up, I had found myself on a bed in a small room. An IV was stuck in my left arm and a heart monitor was attached to my index finger. My right arm was in a sling, and though it was extremely sore and stiff, I could actually move it. I didn't have the energy to lift the covers and look at my leg, but I later found that my shin was wrapped in bandages. Not long after I awoke, a figure had walked into the room, and then left in less time than it takes for someone to say "it's alive" like the doctor who created Frankenstein. The figure must have been a nurse, because a man, wearing a lab coat with a stethoscope resting on his shoulders, rushed in shortly afterward. About an hour later, I was taken to what appeared to be and examination room. While in this room, I went through a variety of tests, like following a flashlight with my eyes and reading the letters off an eye chart.

That was earlier in the day, before I was wheeled into the small room that looked something like an interrogation room out of CSI. It was intimidating, and made me uncomfortable. I sat at a plain, metal table with an IV stand next to me. Both men were seated. The man on the left was an older Asian man, and was the doctor that had rushed into my hospital room. His face resembled that of an exotic shorthair cat. The man on the right, who had to get himself a chair, was a Caucasian in his thirties.

"Ahem," the Caucasian cleared his throat, "My name is Johnathan Legacy and I am a police officer from the local police department. However, I'll also be serving as a translator between you and Mr. Okamoto here." He made a hand gesture towards the doctor. "Do you understand?" I nodded. "Alright then," He opened the envelope, "I recently finished going over both the X-rays and the results for the tests that were done, and I understand why Mr. Okamoto thinks that this is an urgent matter."

Urgent?

"You see, you sustained some very serious injuries. Aside from dehydration, and a duo of very nasty bruises on your back and lower left leg, there's your dislocated shoulder," he pulled out an X-ray and held it in front of me before placing it on the table, "your fractured fibula," he pulled out another X-ray and did the same as before, "and your concussion." He held up a paper with what looked like random colours on it. I couldn't help but wonder when they had taken the X-Rays. "And then there's the two week coma you were in."

Coma?

This was the first I was hearing of it.

"Now," He placed the paper in front of me as he spoke, "What Mr. Okamoto wants to know, along with the police force of the Hyogo Prefecture, is, what happened to you?"

"I-I don't know," I stammered, "The first thing I remember is waking up like that. And before that I-" It hit like a brick to the face. Questions ran through my head, questions I didn't have the answers to. I can't accurately describe how idiotic I felt for not registering something so vital and trivial.

"Hey," the Caucasian tried to draw my attention. I blankly stared at the table top.

"I don't know." I mumbled.

"Sorry?"

"I don't remember." I stated upon looking at him.

John sighed. He then turned to Mr. Okamoto and they exchanged a few words in a different language. When they were done, John turned his focus back to me.

"Can you tell me something about yourself? Maybe your home address, your birthday, or even your name?"

My name…

My mind was drawing blanks.

"Nothing?" I had fixed my gaze on the wood brown envelop that lay open on the table. It conjured up ananalogy: my brain felt like a book with its pages ripped out.

"Nothing at all?" I weakly shook my head in response.

John and Okamoto exchanged some more words. "It is possible that you have Amnesia," then echoed throughout the room.

A few moments of silence followed; silence that was broken by John.

"Aside from yourself and what happened to you, what is the first thing that you can remember?"

My mind shot back to when I awoke under that tree. Within that memory was the trace of another, but the memory itself was gone. I looked up from the table.

"Anything helps," John added.

I hadn't noticed before, but John's hair was blue.

"I woke up in a forest..."

After telling them what I could, I was taken to a hospital room different from the one that I had woken up in. I guessed that I had initially been in the Intensive Care Unit and was being put into a regular hospital room, with four other patients, to recover. That's where I spent the next week recovering. Wait, let me clarify. That's where I spent the next week unhappily lounging as I recovered. You can't really blame me though. I was in a hospital, in some country, surrounded by people speaking a language I didn't understand, and I had amnesia. There's not a lot you can do to pass the time in a situation like that. So I did what I could, which soon turned into a daily routine.

Wake up, watch some T.V., try to figure out what exactly I was watching, eat breakfast(which was whatever meal choice the nurses gave me), watch more T.V., eat lunch, watch even more T.V., and have dinner. That's it. I got restless, and on my third night I eased myself out of bed and began exploring the hospital. The medical staff caught on pretty quick. I didn't get farther than the end of the hallway before being provided a crutch and getting escorted back to my room. At least I got a great view of the city and its vast array of lights from the windows there.

Eventually, the news came.

"Myself and a few of my fellow officers went to where you were found, and after some searching we discovered the clearing that you told me about. However, we did not find a vehicle." I was sitting up on my hospital bed, the muted T.V. on in the background.

"We did find evidence suggesting that some kind of incident did occurred up there, but nothing that would indicate the presence of a heavily damaged vehicle." I proceeded to stare at the floor.

The car is gone?

It didn't make sense. None what so ever. I was absolutely certain that there had been a car there. I had been inside it; it had been the source of my supplies. The fact that it just magical disappeared was logic breaking. Then again, it being there to begin with was logic breaking.

"You were dehydrated..." he began. I jerked my head up.

"Yeah, and I guess everything I got from it is fake too, huh?" I spat.

"Relax," he said, taken aback with his hands raised in defence, "It was just a thought. While the phone and bottle aren't among your belongings, everything else is. And I doubt that there'd be a coin, a fork, and a bunch of hard candies in the center of a clearing that far out in the wilderness." There was a pause.

"The phone is missing?" I asked.

"Yeah," he answered, inching his head, "My best guess would be that it was left behind for whatever reason and then picked up by a passerby-er. And regarding your belongings-" He paused for moment, "Well, we were hoping that they'd provide some answers, but you didn't have a wallet or any form of ID. All you really had were your shoes and the clothes on your back." The dead silence that followed his statement almost allowed me to hear the muted T.V.

"So, what happens now?" I asked, hoping for some kind of good news. Instead, I was given a hard, solemn look.

"For now, you will be staying in the hospital, but it's unclear what will happen once you recover. If there was some kind of proof that you are a Japanese citizen, then maybe the local government would assist you in some way." There was more silence, allowing the words to sink in.

"Does that mean…," I faltered, not sure if I wanted to hear the answer, "I'm gonna end up on the street, aren't I?" There was more silence.

"Yes, most likely." I found myself looking back down at the floor, feeling defeated.

"Look," John broke another moment of silence, "you'll be in the hospital for another three or four weeks. I suggest that you get as much rest as possible. Then we'll go from there." There was a hint of hope in his voice as he spoke. "Who knows," he continued, "maybe your memory will return before you're discharged."

I wanted to believe him, but it was clear that the chances of that were slim. Suddenly, a tune echoed around the room with a familiar, hard to miss beat. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the source of the music and flipped it open before it could begin the chorus. The strangely familiar beat started bouncing around my skull, pushing me to find its significance.

A few seconds passed after he spoke into the microphone of his phone, during which his solemn expression was replaced with one of seriousness.

He spoke once more before he promptly shut the flip-phone and slid it back into his pocket. "Duty calls," he declared, turning and walking toward the door, "I'll be back sometime next week to check up on you."

"What song was that?" John stopped mid stride and turned to look at me.

"'Harder, better, faster, stronger' by Daft Punk. Why? Did you remember something?" He retraced his steps back to my bed.

"No." My answer was so matter-of-fact that it threw me off.

I shouldn't say that, I don't know if that's absolutely correct. I could almost see the gears turning in John's head.

"Does Portugal sound familiar?" I thought about it for a second.

"I don't know, why?"

"How about Canada?"

His phone began ringing again. "Shit." he retrieved it from his pocket as he turned to leave. "I really have to go." He rushed toward the door as he flipped open the phone, unknown words fading into the hallway. I sat there for a minute before grabbing hold of my wheeled IV-stand and slowly limping to the bathroom.