Invincible

Chapter One

I open my eyes to an unfamiliar place. I have absolutely no idea where I am. In a living room from the looks of it. Layered over me is a thin, tan blanket, and as I lift it up, I find myself dressed in extremely, baggy clothes that are two sizes, too big for me. Not that I am complaining, or anything. It's better than wearing nothing at all.

I prop myself up and realize that I am laying on a soft, brown sofa. I then turn around to examine the area. The room seems simple; a table sitting in front of me with pictures of a girl and a young woman, a TV up ahead, a window to its left, and a chair—probably reclining—placed a few feet beside the couch.

I stare at the window, a bright, yellow light shining through it, and from there, my eyes remain.

I try to put the pieces together, asking myself who I was and how I got here, but my mind just can't seem to calculate anything. It's as if I am running towards a brick wall, hoping for one second that it would just disappear, and I can walk through it. But it's only when I hit the rocky surface that I get a taste of reality.

I hear the sound of approaching footsteps, and immediately I turn my head towards its direction. A fairly tall man carrying a steaming mug in his hands walks into the room. He looks as if he were in his thirties, with brown hair, a scruffy beard, and from the looks of it, green eyes, which happen to focus on me with a surprising expression.

"Hey," he says in a relived tone, a smile crossing his face. "You're awake. I've got to tell you, man, you're quite the sleeper."

A sudden impulse tells me to scream for help, to attack him, and run away as far as I can. But then I pause, reconsidering the thought. Judging from his appearance and demeanor, he seems like a helpful man. I should at least give him a chance.

I place my feet onto the floor, in case this guy wanted to sit beside me. Sure enough, he does, handing me the mug.

"Coffee?" he offers.

I get confused for a moment. I couldn't remember what this coffee was, but I am for certain that it is made with some kind of beans.

I take the mug from his hand. "Thank you," I say, drinking from the mug. As I take the first sip, the drink begins to taste smooth and delightful. Surely it isn't supposed to taste like this. I take another sip, only this time much longer, and when the liquid hits my mouth, I swirl it around against my tongue, waiting for a difference in its flavor. But there is nothing new to taste besides the rich and magnificent flavor, which I try so hard to put a name on.

Sweet, I think after a few moments. It's really sweet.

I cough a few times at the overwhelmingly hot and sugary liquid as I begin to swallow it down. Out of fear of choking, I open my mouth, letting the air relax my tongue and throat.

"It's very sweet," I say to the man between coughs.

He laughs. "Yeah. I go a little overboard with the sugar sometimes. Sorry."

I nod my head in assurance.

"Are you okay? Hurt or anything?"

I shake my head.

"Good," he simply responds. His lips remain silent for a moment as he looks at me. "What's your name?"

I'm not exactly sure what to say to him. I don't want to make anything up—as if I have any other choice—but what answer can I possibly give to this man? After a few seconds, I sigh, realizing that the truth is what I need to tell him, and hopefully that will be enough.

"I don't know."

The man slowly nods. "Okay. Well, do you have any idea where your folks are?"

I'm guessing when he meant folks, he means my parents. Sadly, I shake my head.