Her Wish (Michael Jackson Fanfiction) (Completed)

Culture Shock

Waking up in the morning always proved to be the hardest, especially knowing that I had to get ready to work at that godforsaken diner. I lazily open my eyes, adjusting them to the sunlight coming through the window. I immediately try to move my hand around on the coffee table to find my phone, but only find a clutter of magazines and an empty coffee mug. I assume I probably got drunk for how hazy I feel right now but I don't remember sipping a single drop of wine or whiskey for that matter.

I raise myself up, giving up my phone search and finally looking around my same old apartment. But, I find that it's.... incredibly different from what I remember. I must've had some alcohol because I don't recognize this place at all, whose place is this? More importantly, why am I only wearing this over-sized sweater? I don't remember changing into this last night.

I cautiously walk around, looking to find out something about who owns this extravagant place. The setup of the apartment is drastically different from my hideous place. Not one single item is misplaced, everything smells rather pleasant but it's very...vintage, to say the least. I hadn't even noticed outside the windows, there lies a bountiful amount of palm trees and a radiant, clear blue sky. That's unusual for the dreary weather I'm used to.

The kitchen is where I find a wallet, a very feminine one out on the counter along with a stack of mail. I feel bad about snooping through it but it'll help me figure out something.

I unclasp the wallet, finding that a couple of credit and debit cards fall out along with at least $300 in cash. My eyes go wide at the crisp $100 bills, who carries that much cash around?

I continue the search through the wallet, finding an ID. I feel some success in my search and take a long, hard look at the name.

"This place must belong to.... Kendra.... Atkins?" I read out loud and I look again to see that I'm not going insane, that's my first name but that's not my last name. Since when was my last name Atkins? I could swear it was Hilliard. Maybe it's a misprint.

I swiftly grab the stack of mail and try to see if I'm right in assuming it's a misprint. Of course, I'm proven wrong when I sift through every single piece of mail to find the same name over and over:

Kendra Atkins.

This has to be wrong, no way. I must be in someone's else place who just happens to share the same first name.

I quickly back out of the kitchen, attempting to understand what's going on but can't. I'm about to start pacing the floor when I notice many pictures in frames all over, I pick up one and see...myself...smiling with a group of unfamiliar but beautiful people. I flip over the frame to see that there's a title on the back.

It reads:

Fashion Week with Moschino, 87.

87? As in 1987? What is going on? This has to be a dream; it has to be. I run outside, not bothering to pull on pants. I find an elevator and take it down to see a very luxurious lobby, a receptionist calls out to me.

"Miss Atkins? Are you alright?"

I ignore the yelling out as I make my way outside where a doorman asks the same question to me. I wave him off and look to the streets to see very old cars, and very oddly dressed people walking the streets. There even seems to be people speaking on huge bricks for phones, also young teens listening to walkmans? What kind of drugs did I take last night?

I feel myself losing it, so I quickly turn back around. The same doorman approaches me. He seems to be a nice gentleman in his late fifties, his hair giving away his age. The way he approaches me makes me feel as though I'm supposed to know him well.