Phantom Recall

1 || phantom awakening

I knew the sun was beaming directly down onto my skin before opening my eyes, yet even without the wind to sweep over my body I couldn't have felt colder. A chill nests in my bones, the sort of intuitive shock your senses experience when they know, deep down to their core, that something is off, something is wrong.

Had I fallen asleep outside somewhere, I wonder, my fingers curling, scraping against the pavement beneath them. My insides curl, as well. Everything is unpleasant.

The sounds of speeding cars and bustling people assault my ears all at once, like a wild animal abruptly loosed from a rope. My nails scrape the pavement again, but this time, I make an attempt to push myself up so that I can move one step closer to getting my act together.

It would take a bit. Right now, everything is still clouded in a peculiar, unsettling haze and frankly, the fact that I can't recall my name isn't helping anything.

Will, it's Will. I squeeze my eyes shut as I prop my back against whatever solid structure happens to be behind me. Your name is Will.

It's a start.

Opening my eyes again, I allow myself to brave the world and the chaos it already seems to be shoving down my throat. Cold. It's dreadfully cold. But I look down at my arms, and they're covered — I have on a yellow sweatshirt, but the material must be paper-thin. The people passing by me don't seem bothered by the weather. In fact, most of them aren't even wearing coats or jackets. Mostly short-sleeved shirts, and I watch a small group of teenagers walk by wearing shorts and sandals, too.

None of them look at me. It shouldn't be so surprising. I don't know them after all, but surely some kid lying by the side of the street would draw some sort of attention. But no, not a single soul who passes me by offers but a single glance of curiosity.

Am I that gross-looking?

I bite the inside of my lip, finally mustering the strength to rise to my feet. My legs wobble like a newborn deer. I certainly feel like one. Uncertain and unsteady. My eyes readjust to a sudden glare of light.

I don't recognize this street. Moreover, with what scraps of memory I can gather, I know I'm not a particularly adventurous type of guy, meaning it's unlikely I just decided to go out drinking last night and passed out in the middle of the sidewalk. Heck, I don't even like alcohol. I remember that much, too.

There's no phone in my pocket. No wallet, either. It's discouraging, to say the least. What kind of idiot would leave the house and go to an unfamiliar neighborhood without his phone? Me, apparently. Unless I did leave the house with it, and somebody mugged me. It would answer some questions that's for sure, but nowhere near enough. If push comes to shove, I could ask for directions. There's bound to be someone willing to help a poor guy in need.

I have to try. The longer I stand around like this, the window of vulnerability opens wider.

"Hey, 'scuse me?"

Strike one. The first kind-looking lady who walks by gives me nothing but the cold shoulder. I clench my fist.

A man in formal business attire approaches. I try again.

"Excuse me, can you tell me where—?"

I can't even get a full sentence out. Sure, the guy was walking pretty briskly, but there's no way he didn't see me.

No, it seems fully intentional. Like these people couldn't be bothered to give me the time of day.

I'm aware of what I look like. Hair dyed a bright pink, multiple piercings in each ear and an overall outward bearing that would make 70% of elderly people either shake their heads in pity or go into cardiac arrest, but still...ignoring people is just plain distasteful.