The One Where Some Kid Gets Amnesia (But Like, In A Fun Way)

Featuring: One confused teenager, excessive amounts of tea, and an old man who's definitely not your average grandpa-next-door)

Here's the first chapter, which introduces us to the character and helps to set the scenes for where the story will go. Hope you like it!

The first thing I felt when I woke up was pain. A deep ache through my whole body, worst in my stomach. Like I'd been hit by a truck. Several trucks.

Second came the voices – whispers that floated in and out like fog.

"...lucky to be alive..."

"...miraculous, how did he...?"

"...it might scar..."

Perfect. Nothing says 'you're in deep trouble' like adults whispering over you while you're half-conscious.

I tried opening my eyes, but they felt heavy. I finally managed to force them open, only to get blasted by bright light. I groaned. If this was heaven, then the angels needed to work on the lighting.

"He's awake!" someone said nearby.

I blinked hard, trying to see clearly. Everything was fuzzy – why couldn't I see right? An old man's face appeared above me, with a neat gray beard and kind eyes. For a second, I thought I was looking at Gandalf. But unless I'd somehow landed in Middle Earth, probably not.

"Can you hear me, young man?" he asked softly.

"Nuuuuuuugh." I tried to speak but just made a weird croaking sound. My throat felt like sandpaper.

"Take it easy," he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "You've been through a lot. Try not to move."

As my eyes adjusted, I saw something small and green floating by the old man's shoulder. Is that a turtle? I thought. I blinked hard, sure I was seeing things. When I looked again, it was gone. Great, now I was hallucinating.

"W-water," I managed to say, deciding to worry about floating turtles later.

"Of course," the old man said. He lifted my head and helped me drink from a glass of cool water. I gulped it down like I'd been lost in a desert.

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice working better now.

"You're welcome," he smiled. "Can you tell me your name?"

I opened my mouth to answer...but nothing came. I couldn't remember. Panic hit me as I searched for something as basic as my own name and found nothing. "I... I don't know," I said, fear making my voice shake.

The old man's forehead wrinkled with worry. "It's alright," he said calmly. "After what you've been through, some confusion is normal. Do you remember what happened?"

I closed my eyes, trying to think. All I got were pieces – a dark alley, a knife glinting in the light, screams that might have been mine. And something else... purple light? A butterfly? My stomach lurched and everything started going dark again.

"Stay with me," the old man called, his voice getting far away. "Try to stay awake...!"

But the darkness was too strong, pulling me back under…

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Darkness ate me alive, breathing and moving like it was real. The alley walls squeezed closer, shadows pulsing with evil. My heartbeat drowned out everything except slow footsteps coming closer.

Someone stepped out of the black, their face an empty void. They held a knife that gleamed too bright, like it was alive and hungry. I tried to run but couldn't move – like the ground had grabbed my feet.

"Please," I begged, my voice tiny in the quiet. "I don't have anything worth stealing! I'm nobody!"

They laughed, the sound freezing my blood. "Exactly," they whispered with many voices at once. "You're nobody. You don't matter!"

The knife went into my stomach, pain exploding everywhere. I screamed but the darkness swallowed the sound.

As I fell, weird shapes swam in my eyes. A bright purple butterfly appeared in the dark. It landed on the bloody knife, and the attacker changed. Black smoke wrapped around them, twisting their body until they were huge, radiating power.

"This is how you become somebody," the monster roared, its voice shaking everything. "This is how you MATTER!"

I reached desperately for that power, that feeling of purpose. But I grabbed nothing and fell into endless emptiness.

"I want to be somebody," I screamed into the void, my words disappearing. "I want to matter!"

The darkness laughed with a million voices. "YOU DON'T MATTER, AND YOU NEVER WILL.

It continued to laugh as I kept on crying out, falling deeper and deeper into the shadows...

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

I woke up gasping, heart pounding, cold sweat everywhere. The nightmare stuck to me like glue, those feelings of being helpless and worthless still burning fresh. What kind of nightmare was that? I thought. That wasn't normal!

After I calmed down, I could see better, but everything past arm's length was still annoyingly blurry. My stomach hurt less now, and my head felt clearer. Small wins, I guess. I looked around from the soft bed I was lying on.

The room was small and cozy, part bedroom, part workshop. Shelves covered the walls, packed with what looked like books, mysterious jars, and antiques from all over. Everything far away was just fuzzy colors and shapes. Sunlight came through a window nearby, full of floating dust. The old floor creaked softly like the house was breathing.

I tried sitting up but pain shot through my stomach. "Ow! Bad move," I said through clenched teeth. Mental note: don't make sudden moves when you feel like you've been stabbed in the stomach.

Which, unfortunately, is what I think happened to me.

Looking down, I saw bandages wrapped tight around my abdomen, but no shirt. At least I still had pants on, though my feet were bare.

What happened to me? I wondered, carefully touching the bandages, stained red with blood. Pieces came back—getting mugged, my parents—but the details kept slipping away. Every time I tried grabbing a specific memory, it vanished like smoke.

"Come on," I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut. "Mom's face...what did she look like?" But the image stayed fuzzy, unclear.

I tried something else. "Okay, the mugging. There was someone... with a... what? A knife?" My hands grabbed the sheets in frustration. "What happened?"

The harder I tried remembering, the more worried I got. My heart raced and sweat broke out on my forehead. Why couldn't I remember?

"This is pointless," I groaned, falling back on the pillow. I stared up, feeling completely lost.

The door creaked open and the old man came in. I jumped, surprised, making pain shoot through me again. Real smooth, whats-my-name. Real smooth.

"Ah, you're awake again," he said warmly. "How are you feeling?"

"I... I'm not sure," I said shakily. "Everything's kind of... blurry."

He nodded kindly as he walked over, the floor creaking under his steps. "That's normal. You've been through a lot. May I?" he asked, pointing to my bandages.

I nodded, and he checked the wrappings carefully. His hands felt warm and stronger than I expected for an old man. "Hmm," he said, "healing well, but might leave a scar. You're lucky, all things considered."

A scar? Just what the hell happened to me? "How... how long was I out?" I asked, my voice still rough.

His face softened. "You've been going in and out for about three days," he said gently. "This is your first time being fully awake. You had me worried, my boy."

Three days? The news hit me hard. I tried to swallow this information. Maybe that was why I felt so weak and why my memories were such a mess. But it raised more questions. Where was I? Did anyone know I was here?

And most importantly, who was I?

While he worked with my bandages, I kept squinting, trying to see his face more clearly. Everything far away was still annoyingly blurry. He noticed me struggling and stopped.

"Ah yes," he said, reaching for something nearby and pulling out what looked like black-framed glasses. "These are yours. They were scratched, but I was able to clean them up."

He carefully put them on my face, and suddenly everything in my vision was crystal clear. I blinked in surprise – I hadn't even remembered I needed glasses. It was like switching from fuzzy TV to high 4K resolution.

"Better?" he asked with a slight smile.

"Much," I said, looking around the room clearly now. As I noticed details, I felt a weird sense of déjà vu. Some things – like an old brass gramophone in the corner catching the sunlight – seemed familiar, but I couldn't say why. It was like something from a dream I half-remembered.

I was able to actually see the old man now. He was short, with a kind face and neat gray goatee. He wore an odd mix of clothes – red Hawaiian shirt with white flowers, tan capri pants, and dark brown shoes. The outfit should have looked weird in this room full of antiques, but it fit him somehow. He had this wise feeling about him, like an old kung fu master.

Even he seemed familiar somehow. "Do... do I know you?" I asked carefully.

He paused briefly, something crossing his face before he smiled gently. "I don't think we've met before," he said. "You can call me Mr. Chan. And you are...?"

I frowned, concentrating. Unlike before, something stirred in my foggy memory. Like trying to grab smoke, but I focused hard on the faint traces.

"M...Ma..." I started forming the first letter. Mr. Chan leaned in, waiting patiently. I placed a hand to my head. "Max...Maxi..." I shut my eyes tight, pushing for the full name. Come on. Come on!

Finally, it came to me.

"...Maximilian," I said slowly, the name feeling strange but right. "My name is…Maximilian." As I said it, things got a bit clearer. "But...Max. People call me Max. I think."

I felt tired from the effort, but proud of remembering this small piece of myself. Not much, but it was something.

Mr. Chan nodded, looking happy. "Good to properly meet you, Max. It would seem your memory's getting better."

"I guess," I said, still feeling confused. "But I still can't remember what happened. How did I get here? Where…" I paused. "Where are my parents?"

Mr. Chan got serious. "I found you hurt in an alley near here," he explained. "You were alone and unconscious. I brought you to my home to help you. About your parents..." he stopped. "I'm sorry, I don't know. I didn't see anyone else."

His words sent chills down my spine. Why couldn't I remember? What happened in that alley? The more I tried remembering, the more scared I got. It was like trying to hold water – the harder I tried, the more it slipped away.

Mr. Chan must have seen I was upset because he put his hand on my shoulder. "Don't push too hard," he said. "I'm sure your memories will come back in time. Just focus on resting and healing for now."

I breathed deeply, trying to calm down. The herb smell from my bandages seemed stronger now, almost calming. "Thank you," I said quietly. "For helping me. You didn't have to. Most people would've just called nine-one-one and left."

His eyes crinkled warmly as he spoke gently but firmly. "Of course, I brought you here. I couldn't leave a child alone on the street. You're safe here, Max. I'll help you however I can."

His kindness caught me off guard, and I felt my throat tighten. I blinked fast, fighting tears. Great. Now I was going to cry in front of a stranger. Could this get more embarrassing?

"Now then," he said, standing slowly with a grunt as the floor creaked. "You need to rest and get stronger. Don't try getting up just yet, and leave the bandages alone. I'll bring you some food soon."

As he turned to leave, a memory suddenly came back – fuzzy but strong. "Wait," I called. "Where's your turtle?"

He stopped, looking confused. "My turtle?"

"Yeah," I said, frowning as I tried catching the memory. "When I first woke up...I think I saw a small turtle near you. Is it...your pet?"

I thought I saw alarm on his face for a second. But it disappeared so fast I might have imagined it. He laughed, shaking his head. "I don't have any pets, Max. You must have dreamed it."

"Oh," I said, disappointed. "I guess that makes sense. It was pretty weird."

He nodded, his face unreadable. "Our minds play tricks when we're hurt or scared. Don't worry about it. Rest now, and we'll talk more later."

As he left, I lay back on the pillows, my mind spinning. Something about his explanation felt wrong, but I didn't know why. I looked around the room, seeing the old gramophone again. Like everything else here, it pulled at my memory – feeling important, like secrets just out of reach.

I closed my eyes, suddenly tired. I took off my glasses, put them aside, and started falling asleep. Broken images flashed through my mind – a dark alley, a glowing butterfly, my parents looking terrified. But before I could grab them, sleep took me, and I fell into a dreamless sleep.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

I awoke to a changed light in the room - golden afternoon sun streaming through the window, making long shadows on the floor. I watched dust floating in the sunbeams, trying to collect my thoughts. How long had I been asleep?

My body was stiff and sore, but the sharp pain had dulled to an ache. Carefully, I sat up, gritting my teeth. I put my glasses on and looked around the room.

The space seemed more mysterious in the warm light. Shadows danced across shelves full of old books, porcelain figures, and ceremonial masks. A work table in the corner held tools and half-finished projects I didn't recognize.

But the gramophone kept catching my eye. It sat near the door, its brass horn shining. Something about it nagged at my mind, like a word I couldn't quite remember. For some reason, I wanted to look closer at it.

Before I could, the door creaked open and Mr. Chan came in with a tray filled with food. The smell of chicken soup made my stomach growl.

He laughed softly. "Thought you might be hungry," he said, putting the tray down. "How do you feel?"

"Better, I think," I said, wincing as I reached for the soup. "Still sore, and my head's fuzzy. But not as much pain."

He nodded, smiling gently. "Good. The herbs in your bandages help healing. But try to take it easy for now."

I tried the soup, breathing in deeply first. The rich flavor filled my mouth - perfect chicken, vegetables, and mysterious herbs. As I swallowed, warmth spread through me, bringing some relief.

"This is really good," I said, taking another spoonful. "What's in it?"

His eyes sparkled. "Old family recipe, back when I was a boy." He explained. "It's medicine too, not just food. Every ingredient helps to heal and if might I add, tastes good."

I kept eating eagerly. For a moment, the soup and his kindness pushed away my fear and confusion. Not much, but it helped.

"Thank you, Mr. Chan," I said, looking up. "Not just for the soup. For everything."

He sat in a chair by the bed, studying me intensely. Despite feeling cozy, I felt out of place, like I didn't quite belong.

I fidgeted with the spoon, looking between him and the door. The spoon clinked against the bowl in the quiet room.

"So, Is this your place?" I asked to break the silence. "It looks…nice."

He nodded, smiling. His eyes crinkled, his weathered hands folded in his lap. "Yes, this is my home and massage shop. I practice traditional Chinese medicine here. That's how I could help your injuries." He gestured around us. "You're welcome to stay as long as you need to recover."

"That's...really kind," I mumbled, then exclaimed, "But why? I mean, I'm grateful and all, but," I paused, not wanting to sound like a jerk. "It's not like you know me."

And I just did. Great job, Max.

His face softened with understanding. "Max," he said gently, leaning forward, "I know this is scary and confusing. But you're safe here. If you're ready, we can try to understand what happened. But only when you're ready."

I put down my spoon, suddenly less comforted by the soup. "I want to remember," I said. "But when I try, there's like a wall in my mind. I get pieces - an alley, a knife - but can't connect them." I looked up, feeling exposed. "And I'm scared of what I might remember. What if it's awful?"

He met my eyes, afternoon shadows making him look ancient. "That's natural," he said. "Our minds protect us from trauma. Memories might return, or not. But whatever happened to you doesn't define you now."

He touched my shoulder warmly. "We'll handle this together, step by step. Focus on healing for now, and the rest will come when it should."

I nodded, grateful but uncertain. "Thanks. I'll try."

His voice softened strangely. "While you eat, we could talk more? Feel up to some questions?"

I paused, then nodded slowly. "I guess. But I might not help much. Everything's still...mixed up."

He leaned forward. "That's fine. Just tell what you remember, even if it seems odd. Even small details can matter."

I took another spoonful, thinking. "Well," I started, "I remember an alley. It was dark, and I was scared. Someone else was there, maybe more people? My parents?" I frowned, trying to grab the memories. "A knife, I think? Then...pain. Lots of pain."

He nodded encouragingly. "I see. Anything else? Sounds, smells, feelings?"

I closed my eyes, focusing. "There was a light flash," I said slowly. "And... a butterfly?"

Opening my eyes, I caught a look on his face - surprise and...recognition? But it vanished instantly. Before I could ask, dizziness hit me. The medicine was starting to take effect.

Mr. Chan stood quickly. "Enough for now," he said, taking my almost empty bowl. "Rest. We'll talk more when you're feeling stronger."

As he helped me lie down, I looked at the gramophone again. I couldn't shake the odd feelings I got from it. Without thinking, I asked, "Mr. Chan, what's with that gramophone?"

He froze, then turned with a neutral face. "Just an old antique," he said casually. "Why?"

"I don't know," I said. "It feels...familiar for some reason."

His eyes narrowed slightly - was that fear? But it disappeared fast.

"It's…nothing," he said quietly. "Just an old antique collecting dust, I wouldn't think too much about it."

As he went to the door, I thought I saw something by the gramophone - a small green blur that vanished instantly. I blinked, and it was gone.

"Mr. Chan," I said, fighting the sudden tiredness. "Are you sure you don't have a turtle?"

He paused at the door, thinking carefully. "Max," he finally said gently but firmly. "I know you're curious, but focus on your health now. Questions can wait."

He left, closing the door softly. I felt sure there was more happening than I knew. But I was too tired to think.

I took off my glasses and lay back, my mind racing. As I fell asleep, one thought kept coming: What aren't you telling me, Mr. Chan?

Hope you like the chapter, till next time!