"Who am I? Where am I?" are the first words that came to mind when I woke up laying on the side of the street. I stand up as the dim sun follows suit, with the cool morning breeze engulfs my senses. Wait. A little too cool. My body shivering, I stare down on the ground to see a coated, white and fluffy ground presented to me.
Fantically, I pat down my body, relieved to feel a heavy coat. Not heavy enough to keep me entirely warm. Finding this scenario rather amusing yet confusing, I scuff and begin to walk indefinitely on the path that I was clearly destined to walk. Where was I? This street of houses, ever so ordinary, stretched out for a few blocks, pale grey brick walls separating itself from their neighbours, with large arch doors that would lead into a presumably humble abode.
With no lead into the future, my legs persist movement towards nowhere, and eventually I put my hands into my pocket. My footsteps falter from the feeling of a small, cold metallic object. My grasped hand pulled out, revealing a bronze key, with a certain address written on it. Quick glances to the surrounding street signs revealed I was on the same street as this house address. Perhaps waking up on this street wasn't such a coincidence. On a whim, I pulled a 180 and started moving towards my new objective. Finding my house.
Clearly I wasn't sure if I actually owned the house, or if I had stolen these keys from somewhere else, what was I to care if I had no directionality in life at all. It couldn't hurt to go to this place. So, in these empty streets I continue to bend at every street corner and glanced at numerous house numbers; easily anyone could call me off for being so suspicious. And there it was, the house. Hah. Now what? Surely there's someone in the house that could help me. Not that I care anyways.
Entering the house, the call of my voice returned no response. Lonely, yet again, in an even lonelier location. At least the streets had a good view. What appeared to be relatively spacious, I began to investigate this place. Opening each door revealed many things; empty rooms, an almost empty fridge and, to top things off, a lifeless living room. Ah, the prescence of home could not get any better, clearly my past self was living the time of his life. Whilst enticing my stomache to a packed rice ball leftover in the fridge, one last expedition around the house revealed a particular room that stood out among the rest. The bedroom with an actual bed, with THINGS within.
Assuming the bedroom belonged to me, I scoured the only lively part of this house, finding a mirror, a bed and a messy table displaying various notes and pictures on top. Looking in the mirror revealed a rather handsome man, slim jaw line, clean, poofy and black curtains and piercing brown eyes, wearing a black, yet again poofy winter coat, paired with long navy blue jeans and white and red striped socks. After being distracted by the white and red striped socks (Which I didn't realise until now), I began to look for clues of my identity, starting at the table top. There sat an image of a father and son, which the father wore a white laboratory coat, wearing a scruffy haircut and clean glasses.
The son looked awfully similar to the descriptions I had just seen in the mirror (a rather handsome man, slim jaw line, clean, poofy and black curtains and piercing brown eyes), confirming this room as mine. The father had his arm wrapped around the boy proudly as he held some sort of plaque that I couldn't really make sense of. I shrugged and continue my search, only to discover various ordinary sheets of paper, which seemed to detail different subject areas at school. For example, a mock math exam with a huge score of 40/100 (I found quite fascinating over my failure, even smiled a little), and a rather ominous note on the table with the following:
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
------------------
I don't want this I don't want this I don't want this I don't want this I don't want this
I don't want this I don't want this I don't want this I don't want this I don't want this
I don't want this I don't want this I don't want this I don't want this I don't want this
I don't want this I don't want this I don't want this I don't want this I don't want this
But I have to.
------------------
Of course it was a sign of stress. Feels bad. My past self clearly had a lot going on in his mind and in his life. Surely it doesn't have a link to my memory loss, right? Feigning ignorance, I continued to search the desk, identifying my first piece of useful information. I go to school! An acceptance letter on the desk showed that I was enrolled into a school called ***** high school under the name Naishiro Shinso (心操 ないしろ), who was about to start his first year of high school as of the posted date on the letter. Maybe that scribbled, incohesive mess was a result of entering this highschool? Anyways, I didn't care about my past troubles and decided it would be more proactive to get this life on track with buddy Shinso-san's old life.
I found a wallet with a debit card and some coins, with my ID (who knows when I would need it). Clearly my 'packed' fridge needs an update on its contents. These were the interesting events that I experienced in roughly one hour, to this point I am at now. Starving.
Presented with a cool breeze at exit, I begin a new journey for food; clearly the rice balls weren't enough. However, this time there were many more citizens wondering around at this time of the morning, many of them walking around wanderlessly like I was. Or perhaps they were taking a morning walk, I suppose. Whilst simultaneously walking, recording my trail on a paper I took from my room, and asking locals to the closest convenience store, I set my journey towards the holy motherland of cheap discounted goods. If there's one thing I am glad about, it's my sustained and unwavering memories of good food, especially takoyaki balls, ohhhhh I love them so much. Well, weirdly enough I remember mostly everything, yet my identity and my experiences still remained missing. Although I would love to remember my identity, at least I'm not forgetful to the point where I'm disabled.
These thoughts of food continuously floods my brain, where nothing else could possibly distract me. Not until my eye catches a glimpse of a barely distinguishable figure of a girl on top of a large establishment, seemly a school of some form, standing ominously on the rooftop. Around 5-6 metres tall, it was obvious that a fall from that height would kill anyone. However, it was the following thought: "What is that person even thinking?" that flipped my existence on its head. Had I not thought such idea, my life would never be the same. Suddenly, an abrupt, angry yet saddened voice intercepted all thoughts and processes
"This F*cking Ends Now. I-I don't want this, but I h-have to."
Pause.
I can’t think for a moment.
What am I? If my memory serves me correct, anyone knows humans can’t do THAT. That voice… who was… was it? No…
Pause.
My body went into autopilot. Screaming, telling her to stop, each word piercing my vocal chords in my throat. Our eyes lock for a second, my fearful and her tearful eyes.
Amongst the fear and stress, pupils shrunken, fear elevating, heart racing, it finally hit me. I wasn’t normal.