Empty City

1- Awakening

When I wake - there is nothing but silence. 

I hear nothing, smell nothing, feel nothing.

It takes a few minutes for me to gain my bearings. 

I am on a cold cement floor, with a grey yoga mat separating me from the ground.

Where am I? 

I survey my surroundings. I am in an empty room. There is no furniture, only a small square window that tells me the sun has risen, and a white door. The walls are bleach white.

My shoulder aches from lying on the hard floor. I sit up gingerly. My tail bone protests. It's always stuck out.

I vaguely remember a skiing incident where I fractured my tailbone.

I don't remember anything else.

Who did I go skiing with? Where was I skiing? When?

I remember nothing.

What is my name?

I'm in trouble. Was I rufeed? 

I groan. How can I remember what a rufee is but not remember my name?

Why am I alone in this empty room?

My stomach grumbles. Memory block or not, you need sustenance.

Laying next to me is a canvas backpack that has seen better days. 

I ransack it and find a couple protein bars, a bottled water, and a thin cardigan. No forms of ID. No wallet. Nothing.

I am wearing a black sweater, a gray tee underneath, and new jeans. I can tell they are new because the denim is stiffer than I'm used to. My mousy brown hair is tied in a ponytail that ends at my shoulders.

I scarf down a protein bar (peanut butter), take a few swigs of water (the bottle was sealed), and get to my feet.

A part of me wants to yell, "What the hell is going on?!" 

The other part of me is afraid I might wake monsters. 

Are there monsters around here? I don't know. The whole situation seems creepy enough for there to be monsters lurking outside. Large monsters with spidery legs and clicking razor-sharp teeth.

I get up and look out the window. I see a patio that is, like everything else in this room, empty. Beyond the patio is a drained pool, with pool lounge chairs scattered haphazardly around it. Palm trees line the periphery.

I want to curl up into a ball and never leave. But I only have one more protein bar, and a few more gulps of water. Unless I can absorb moisture from the air and photosynthesize, I cannot survive.

I search the bare room for a hidden compartment or any clue explaining why I might be here - and why my mind is blank - before giving up and trying the door. It opens without a hitch. 

The next room is empty as well, with vaulted ceilings. If I call out my voice will echo ten times over. The air is warmer in here, probably because sun streams in through the two large windows that look into the patio.

After scouring the room and not finding anything - I decide to venture outside. I'm no survival expert, but I know I need more supplies. Also, I would kill for a coffee right now.

The air is still outside. Nothing stirs. The streets, shops, houses - they're all empty. Where are all the birds? The cars? The people? All I hear is a light swish swish from the breeze pushing leaves around.

What the hell?

It dawns upon me in a terrifying second.

I am all alone.