Log:A Lonely Awakening
Andrew wakes with a start, sitting up and tossing the sheets off of him. Why was he in bed, wasn't he on a plane? Why..
No, not Andrew. The memories were evaporating, like water left too long on boil. The mineral stains on the pot being the only recollection of who he had been. Except the island. Those were crisp and clean, but felt.. off. He brings his hand up in front of his face to look at it until a bit of red catches his attention from the corner of his eye.
A guitar sits mounted to the wall. Bloody crimson and marked with the logo of the Slaying Dragons. He knows that guitar, but it belongs back on the island. He had left it behind when..
He winces for a moment, fighting off a wave of vertigo as he tries to focus on the memories. Maybe it was best not to think of them. Slowly he looks around the room. It's the sort of place a person could hide away from the world in. The furnishings are bland and utilitarian, but there's a tall bookshelf lined with all sorts of things to read. Games and puzzles to pass the time. A large comfortable looking chair in one corner with a side table and an electric kettle. A person would only need to leave to find food.
He looks down at himself, wearing only a pair of pajama pants in a rather bland shade of grey. Noises coming from the whatever was beyond the door draws his attention for a moment, but he wasn't going to go wandering out like he was now. Slowly he gets to his feet and walked over to another door, smaller than the other. Maybe a closet?
Part of him knows he should be freaking out. Andrew would be screaming and cussing and throwing things. He just wanted to.. what?
What did he want? He felt like he was waking up from a long dream and he wanted.. sense. He wanted things to make sense.
He opens the door to the closet, peering at the clothes inside. Hoodies, tees, jeans, all in rather subdued and muted tones. Nothing that would stand out, but all things that look comfortable to wear. Unthinkingly he grabs a black hoodie from the closet and tugs it on over his head. It's something.
Going out as he had woken up he would have felt too exposed, too open.
Why wasn't he freaking out?
Maybe he is in his own way. But what use would there be in it. If anything it would bring the attention of whatever people had brought him here down on his head. He needed to figure out where he was and what these people wanted with him.
He turns to shut the door to the closet and stops as he sees his own reflection reflected back at him in the mirror inside the door. That's not the face he recalls from the island. Not exactly. But it is from Andrew's memories. It's the right face, just the wrong age. About eight years too young. He reaches up and touches his cheek.
More sounds come from the hallway beyond the door. Angry, confused, frightened sounds. Slowly he walks towards the door and reaches for the doorknob..The Loner