My eyes opened.
Slowly.
Painfully.
And like most other cliché stories, I have no idea where in the world am I.
As my eyes continue to start adjusting to the surroundings, I sit up and analyse the weird situation that was happening right now.
I was (past tense) lying on a cold wooden bench in what seems like a park. Or at least, it seems like one. Something feels off about it though....... ah. The lack of people. I glance at my watch (somehow unconsciously knowing I was wearing one) and see it scream "03:01" on the screen.
Oh, and it was winter. No wonder the lack of people.
But what was I doing here anyway?
-awkward pause-
Or rather, why.........
WHY CAN'T I REMEMBER?
No, please do not tell me I got drunk and somehow ended up in this weird place.
Do I have a hangover? No. Absolutely sober. So aparrently, I'm not drunk. Hurray, genius. Go me.
Wait.
Oh no.
This has got to be the worst cliché plot to ever happen.
OH GOD.
"Who am I?"
God, I hate amnesia plots so much. God of all story plots, please, just TURN THIS STORY AWAY FROM AN AMNESIA PLOT PLEASE.
Aaaaand shouting didn't do much help. Wow.
Well, do I have anything else on me? Why yes, I do. I have a phone. How typical. And it's not passcode locked. Phew.
And the first thing I see on my phone is a small tiny red number 1 on my phone app. I open the app, and surprise. A contact with the name "Mom" called me. Huh.
Well, what else have I got to lose, right?
I hit the call button, and it rang.
And it rang.
And it rang.
And it ra-
"Hello?" a female voice emerged from the other side.
"Uh, hi Mom?"
"Who the f*** is this?"
"WHOA hold on. Aren't you my mother....? At least it says here on my phone......"
"Wrong number. I don't have a son."
She hung up.
Well, guess I'm out of leads now. I now feel a very strong urge to commit the very stupid act of throwing this phone far far away into some frozen pond after which I will immediately regret my actions, but my phone vibrates again before I can do anything else.
"How did you get that phone?" the same womanly voice rang out.
"Uh, it was with me all along?"
"Remember when I said I didn't have a son?"
"Uh, yes miss?"
"I'll be honest, you seem like a nice guy. I had a son. Had, mind you. He died a few years back in some accident." Weird banging noises starting coming on the other side of the phone. Probably her banging a wall or something. "We never did cancel his phone line. And for some weird reason, you're holding on to Chris' phone. My dead son's phone. Any explanations?"
"N-no miss, I-"
"Whatever it is, I would like that phone back. Hillerton Park, entrance. 1 hour. I trust you'll be there?"
"Uh-"
"Good. I know you're a good lad, so please."
AND SHE HUNG UP.
And somehow, I ended up that entrance of the park I woke up in. And with all cliché stories, surprise surprise: there lay a sign which read "Hillerton Park".
So I stood there in thought. Because really, what else could I do? Run? Intuition tells me that would be the worst idea right now.
But if this story continues to be as predictable as it has been.......
It can't be, can it?
Actually, with all that's happened, I won't be very surprised right now.
More of disappointed.
Writer, if you're reading this, please write a better plot for your other stories. I can't care less anymore for mine: it's a lost cause.
And slowly, I see an old woman clad in a scarf and white overcoat, slowly walking my way.
And I hear the one word which I knew I would hear, as much as I didn't want to.
"Chris?" she said.
