He stood up and pressed a button on his name tag and the lights dimmed. Pressing another, a screen appeared in the wall beside me and I crawled around in order to see it. There on the screen came the most horrific sight I hoped I would never see, something I never even thought I’d see. And it was me. At home.
Eating dinner with my parents. Everyone was laughing and smiling and eating without a care in the world. ‘My’ wavy ginger hair spread out like a lion’s mane and ‘I’ was wearing a purple top. My parents were in the usual suits and stuff and ‘my’ cat, Tubby, was eating its bowl of salmon and carrots. The T.V was on the wall somewhere in the background, stuck on the news channel, and on it was a date that I hadn’t waken up to. Exactly 6 days from when I was walking home in the alleyway. Whoever that girl is on the screen, it isn’t me.
Because I am here.
“Your house is under surveillance, just to make sure Hannah is doing all that she has to do in order to lead a normal life.” He bent down to my level. “To live your normal life” he whispered eerily before resuming his standing position.
Without saying a word I hastily opened the folder and skim read all that was inside. It was only a couple of sheets of paper but it was enough to make a bit of a statement. According to this, I am no longer Hannah Moriati. I’m some chick of Eastern-European origin called Megan Chivonsky. I take acting classes, gymnastics and karate as well as speaking 3 other languages. My parents are teachers and I live in a small suburb in Buckinghamshire. I’m 17 and according to the picture, I’m supposed to have short wavy black hair and grey eyes. And a bunch of other stuff.
Not only don’t I have my rightful identity of Hannah Moriati.
But someone has stolen my identity.
And I have a sinking feeling that there is nothing I can do about it.
I glared at Dr Morgan Smith before chucking the file behind my head. How dare he? The anger I felt amplified and I stood up before marching towards the Doctor. I saw several assistants lunge forward but were frozen by a small flick of his hand. He smirked, watching me advance towards him until I stopped abruptly in front of him.
“Why me? Why didn’t you pick on some other girl? I am not and will never be Megan Chicowsky or whatever the hell her name is, assuming she’s even based on a real person” I shrieked at him, holding back the urge slap the smile off his face. When I’d finished with my mini rant I waited, breathing heavily before trying to make any physical contact with him. My glare hardened, daring him to make the first hit. He blinked before clearing his throat.
“We picked you because you already have a lot of the qualities we’re looking for, no other girl would suffice and Megan Chivonsky is based on a real person.”
Throughout this monologue, he remained perfectly calm. His voice was even and level throughout and when he finished he smiled, as if this was the most normal conversation in the world. Again my anger heightened, but then something else clicked.
“I’m stealing someone else’s identity?” I said slowly with disgust, backing away from him cautiously. He laughed lightly.
“Well of course! What goes around comes around, someone takes your identity, and you take someone else’s!” he said, almost falling over in laughter at his pathetic joke. I started laughing too for some strange reason, except mine was fuelled only by the hysteria that had begun to bubble through me.
“Get me out of here” I stated, whilst still laughing. “Get me out of here!”
Next thing I knew, another needle slid into my back and that familiar feeling of unconsciousness came back.
YOU ARE READING
Stolen Identity
Mystery / Thriller'You'd like to think you are sure of yourself. You know who you are, what you like, your interests and your dislikes. Your identity is more than just what it says it is. It's your token to life and acceptance in some cases. And then that's taken awa...
