Sometimes, I like to do a little thing I like to call... well, I haven't thought of a clever name for it, but there's something there. But basically I go with a simple idea; in this case it's a first-person prespective of a man who wakes up in a hotel room with no memory of his past. And that's all I'll have figured out about what I'm going to write and I just simply start writing. It's actually very fun to see how the story turns out. If you've never done this before, try it. So, let's see how this turns out. Hope you enjoy.
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I wake up in a hot, stuffy hotel room. The fan above me blows air into my sweaty face. My muscles are sore, my head is sore, in fact my whole body is sore. Why? I can't remember why. Wait, who am I? Where am I? I don't remember anything.
What is my name?
I think about this for some time until my headache quickly escalates into a migrain. This is all so confusing and frusterating. I begin to ask myself questions about myself to see what I can remember. Adresses, loved ones, phone numbers, what I look like, any personal information. Nothing.
I sit-up on the bed. A wave of pain rolls down my back. To my right is a small balcony sealed off by a window slide door. Outside, it looks like a busy city. I can faintly hear the traffic and noise made by the large population. I get up and walk to the balcony, quickly feeling pain in my legs as well. I open the door and the sun shines in my face. I flinch a little and have to squint my eyes. Below, there is busy traffic and motorists in their cars or bikes or mopeds.
When I look at the walking pedestrians they are all dark-skinned with black hair. It registers in my confused and painful mind that I am somewhere in Mexico, Central America, or South America. Wait, do I know spanish?
Ask 'where and who the hell am I?' in spanish, I tell myself.
"dónde y quién demonios soy?" I say out loud.
"Holy shit, I do. And I didn't even know it."
Wait, that's my voice. Sounds like a regular male voice, I suppose.
God, this is so strange. I don't remember anything. I just wanna lay back down on that bed and pass out. But no, I have to find out what the hell is going on here.
What do I look like?
I run to the bathroom, almost scared. I look into the mirror. I am clearly caucsian. So I wasn't born here; that much I already knew by my inscentive to think in English. I have ashy blonde hair that comes down to the top of my eye brows. Brown Eyes. I look about 21, 22, 24 at the most. There a cut just above my upper lip. It's pretty deep and about an inch long. No shaving cut. I shrug it off.
I have a white tank top on. Had it been a shirt that had sleeves there would probably be dark spots from my sweat. I also have light blue, worn out jeans.
My jeans!
Jeans have pockets, which have wallets, which has drivers liscense, which has my name! I frantically dig hand in my two side pocket and literally turn them inside out. Nothing. Back pockets. Nothing.
Now I start to get really confused and scared. I guess the disappointfulness of that is what it took for me to lose it. I try once again to recall any personal information. I can remember some lyrics to songs, information about the world, celebrity names, but personal information? Notta.
What do I do? Where do I go? Okay, first I have to find out where I am and who I am.
I walk out to the balcony to look for any details that would reveal my location. In the distance I can see the top of a statue. I put my hand over my eyes and squint my eyes and I can make out thr face. It's Jesus Christ. Large statue of Jesus? I'm in Rio De Janerio. Which is in Brazil. Do I speak Porteguese?
Sim, eu faço
Okay, that answers that. Maybe I'm on vacation. Shitty hotel, but still. I have an idea. I walk out of the hotel room, go down the corridor leading to the elevator and to the bottom floor. The lady at the front desk smiles, but has a concerned look on her face. She must see the franticity and worry on my face. I ask what is the name of the person staying in room 4A in the Porteguese tongue.
"May I ask why you want to know?" she asks suspiciously in Porteguese.
"My uncle is supposed to be there and I want to make sure it's the right one," I lie smoothly.
Being the cheap ass hotel this place obviously is she looks through papers rather than I click on a computer.
"Matthew Archer."
So that's my name.
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Well, I'm gonna play some MW3 for the rest of the night. I'm going to hope that you can still go back and edit if you save and publish it. I'll save it on google documents just to be sure. So yeah, it's not done. I think it's doing pretty well for it being off top of my head. Begining might have dragged on for a tad bit too long but oh well. Things will pick up soon. Huh, when I copy and paste it to google docs, the places where I hit the enter key twice it only shows one. sad face. But whatever. Good night.