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I wake up to the sound of the waves crashing on the rocky cliff meters away. My back hurts, I can't move my legs, my whole body's sore and I'm cold. I open my eyes to a clear starry night. I try to get up, but can't. I move my arms, but am only able to stroke the rocks beneath my right hand. I swallow hard to my burning throat. I lick my dry lips but my tongue is too parched to wet them. I can hear the rocks just inches above my head move. Footsteps? I open my mouth to ask for help, any help, but my voice refuses to come out. I close them again and I drift back to sleep. 


I feel warmer now. I can see light shining through my closed eyes. The smell of some savory smoke rushed through my nose and makes my stomach grumble.

"You hungry now?" A young woman's voice. 

I open my eyes and cringe them to the brightness of the lamp above me. A delicate hand stretches out overhead and adjusts the light away from my eyes. I look to my left where the owner of the hand is standing. 

She has wavy golden brown hair. Her skin thin and pale, I can see her veins through it. She is looking down at me. Her eyes are  sharp but warm, her nose are thin and straight, her lips as red as roses which are slightly parted to give me a smile. I couldn't help but smile back at her. 

Ouch! The muscles on my face won't allow me. 

"Don't move, I'll help you up," she says. She comes to me and puts one hand under my back. She lifts it up a little and props a pillow under it, she puts another under my head. "You must be hungry," she stands up and leaves. After just a few seconds, she is back with a bowl of steaming soup in her hand. She scoops the spoon in the bowl, blew on it, and put it near my mouth. 

"Eat," she nods. I open my mouth to welcome the taste of warm broth. Although it is painful to swallow,  my body accepts it. I open my mouth again to ask for more. She gives me another, and another, and another. The next thing I know the bowl is already empty. "Want some more?", she asks.

"I'm ok," I finally speak. My voice is husky but I can speak. "Thanks." I try to move my hands and they obey. I raise them in front of me to see scratches and bruises on my arms. I try to move my legs, but they won't budge. 

"Don't strain yourself, you better rest more." She stands up again but I quickly grab on to her hand. She faces me with a questioning look.

"Who are you?" I ask her. 

She sits back down and puts the empty bowl on a small table beside the bed. "I'm Renesmee," she smiles again. "What's your name?"

"I'm...I'm.." I try to think hard but can't remember. "I don't know." I touch my forehead and massage it. Why can't I remember my name? What happened to me? Why am I here?

"You must have a case of amnesia." Her face is concerned now. "Do you know how you got here?"

"No."

"I found you by the beach three days ago. You were all wet and couldn't move. I tried to wake you up several times but you didn't. So, I took you here." 

I look around. The room is bright and spacious, the windows open to the vast ocean. I look through the open door and see a huge living room outside. "Is this your house?" 

"Yes." 

"Where is this place?"

"It's an island given to me by my parents before they died." Her expression became gloomy. "It's an isle off the coast of Rio."

"Rio? As in Rio de Janeiro?"

"Yes." She nods slowly. Her look puzzled. "Do you know where you're from?"

I make an effort to think again, but, still nothing. I shook my head. 

"But, you speak American," she tries to figure out, "you must be from there."

"Maybe." I touch my throat, it's sore from talking. 

"You should rest. Get more sleep." She removes the pillow from under my back and puts it beside me. 

I close my eyes. Who the heck am I? 


The Isle - A Mark Tuan and Renesmee FanfictionWhere stories live. Discover now