The First Day

I wake up. I'm lying on a bare wooden floor in a plain room. The plaster on the walls looks new. It's neither been painted nor papered. The floor definitely looks as though it were made to be covered with carpet or lino -- anything. It's got sploshes of plaster all over it. Where the light switches and fixtures should be, there are holes with wires sticking out with the bare ends wrapped in black sticky-tape. There's a bay window with a bit of light coming in.
    I've never seen an emptier room.
    And, I'm stark naked.
    What am I doing naked in an empty room? I don't remember. I don't even remember going to sleep.
    Did I get drunk or something? I know that happens to people. But I don't think I'm the type who gets drunk.
    Then again, I don't even remember that for sure.
    I don't remember anything. I've heard of people who showed up somewhere, stark naked, with total Amnesia. I don't remember where I've heard it -- I just know it's happened.
    Oh God! Now it's happened to me!
    Maybe there's something in another room that'll jog my memory. I get up, but I'm careful not to go near the window. Not till I find some clothes.
    There are several rooms. All of them are bare and empty. Again, I stay away from windows. The kitchen has a counter and a sink, and gaps where the fridge and stove should go. I try the tap, but it's dry.
    This would actually be a nice house if it had carpet, some decent wall paper and furniture, and lights and water. I like the way the rooms are laid out. Everything looks as though it were bigger than in a normal house though.
    I try the stairs. They're higher than normal steps. At the top there's a bathroom. There's a tub, a loo with no water in it, a sink and a mirror. Again, every thing's big.
    I look in the mirror.
    I look young -- very young. While I don't remember anything, at least I'm sure I wasn't the young boy that I see in the mirror. I'm positive I was an adult.
    Then why the heck do I look like that?
    It does look like me though -- when I was 12 or 13.
    No wonder everything in this house looks big. It's me that's smaller! Well -- that would explain it if it made sense.
    I do sort of remember that that was a rather awkward time of my life. It was an age in which changes began to happen. I seem to remember, later, having these vague questions in my mind about this stage of my life: had things worked out differently, where would I be now -- meaning the 'now' before I apparently fell asleep and woke up here.
    So, what happened? Did I fall asleep at that age and dream I had grown to adulthood? Did my parents move and abandon me? Did I accept candy from a stranger who kidnapped me and stuck me in this empty house?
    I know I'm not dreaming. I feel everything, the floor under my feet, my backache from sleeping on the hard floor, the texture of everything I touch -- it just doesn't happen this way in dreams.
    In storybooks they pinch themselves to make sure they're not dreaming. I suppose, if you've seen a genie or appeared in a fairy castle or something. This is too ordinary for that.
    The mirror tilts so I can see my whole body.
    I look ugly. People have told me I'm handsome, but I don't think so.
    I seem to remember that sometimes I thought being nude brought a sensual feeling -- it made me feel sexy, even at 13. Now, I just feel ugly.
    But now, I've got other problems. I'm inside this strange house. I'm naked. Apart from a mirror, a bath tub, a loo with no water, a kitchen and bathroom sink, there's absolutely nothing in the house.
    I go to one of the upstairs windows, which are high enough to not reveal my lower body.
    There's only the wall of another building a few feet away. Out another window, I can see into another unfinished house. No matter which way I look out, I only see more walls, some windows, some sky if I look up, and dirt if I look down.
    The room at the end of the corridor is what I've always wanted in a house. It's almost like a wardrobe, except it includes the upstairs bay window. There's enough room to put an armchair. The box in front of the bay window is also good for sitting on and looking out -- if only people couldn't just look up and see my nude body just inside the window. I open the window box. It's empty.
    I can't believe this house has a room like this. If only there was a view -- I mean other than the back wall of the next house.
    Now, I approach the bay window of the family room directly downstairs and look down at a muddy patch between this and the next house. There are prints of bare feet in the mud. They look like a child's.
    What do I do now?
    I could stick my head out the door and cry for help. Maybe the neighbours could lend me a pair of trousers and call the police for me.
    But all the houses around about look empty, like this one.
    I could venture outside -- maybe.
    If I were desperate enough.
    I'm not desperate enough yet.
    I sit and lean against the wall near the spot where I woke up.
    I try to remember.
    I can't remember anything very clearly.
    Those events from when I was the boy I now see in the mirror seem almost within reach -- like a dream that just faded -- but I still don't remember them. There are other things that happened after that, but they are even more dim.
    I don't remember any events, but I do have perceptions, impressions, beliefs, and I know facts about this and that.
    I remember lots of theology -- stuff about being 'born again', and 'letting Jesus into your heart'. That sort of thing.
    I also know a lot of science, economic theory, how to draw a still life, a portrait, a landscape.
    I was an artist.
    If I had my canvas and oils, how would I render myself now? Cubist? Impressionist? I don't see what I could add to the surrealism that I seem to be locked in already. I feel as though I were the subject of one of Escher's drawings.
    I also remember science fiction concepts. There's the pulp fiction, with Klingons, Jedi and warp-speed, but I was more into things like alternative histories, speculative fiction, cyberpunk, utopias and dystopias; there are possible futures, like in Brave New World, or an Orwellian one where 'Big Brother' is constantly watching.
    That's it! Maybe I've been captured and modified by aliens, or cloned by a mad scientist, or -- naaa.
    I think the theology comes closer to explaining things. Still not that close though.
    So, what happened -- really? Did I die? Am I in heaven or hell?
    If this keeps up, it might end up being like hell. What am I going to eat? I'm already thirsty.
    But in hell, they've got fire and brimstone. Maybe it's a C.S. Lewis type of hell, as in The Great Divorce?
    It can't be Purgatory. Catholics believe in Purgatory, but they're wrong about most things. It's not in the Bible.
    According to what I was taught, I'd be in heaven now if I had died. I mean, Jesus died for all my sins, didn't he, and I accepted that by faith. I said a prayer once, and admitted I was a sinner in need of salvation. I felt different after that.
    Someone had asked me, 'If you died tonight, where would your soul be?'
    Sitting naked in an empty house, surrounded by other empty houses? Not my idea of either heaven or hell -- well, hell maybe. It doesn't make sense.
    Nothing makes sense.
    For right now, I'll assume that I really am a 13-year-old boy with amnesia left inside a vacant house.
    I've got to get help.
    I'm a bit squeamish about going outside in the nude, but if that's what has to be done to get help, I'd better do it. Otherwise, I'll die of thirst.
    I guess I must be getting desperate. I even feel like I could have a panic attack if I don't do something.
    I open the front door a crack.
    How did they ever get Council permission to build houses so close together?
    I step outside.
    Why! This place is a jungle of houses! There's no footpaths, no lawns, only houses with a couple of feet between -- sometimes not that much. There's no order.
    I leave a rock in the door to prop it open. There are steps going down into the mud.
    There are the footprints. I also see dirty hand prints on the wall. The hands are a bit smaller than mine.
    I don't dare go far, as I'm sure I'd quickly get lost in this jungle of houses. Why I should worry about getting lost, I don't know, but I am. Somehow I seem attached to this house.
    I venture between the two houses, following the footprints. At least I can follow them back again later. There are my own footprints as well.
    I look at the other houses as I go. They're all in different styles. There's brick, wood, stone, stucco, Victorian, Gothic, Greek, Modern, Postmodern, there's a Swiss style chalet, an Irish farm house, there's one with a thatch roof. I've never seen a neighbourhood with such a variety.
    I like the house I found myself in the best though. Somehow, the style and layout is perfect.
    Oh God! Someone is looking at me from a window -- a child's face. As soon as I look back, it disappears.
    Whoever it was, saw me naked! I'm sure he or she must think I'm insane.
    I walk a bit further, around another corner, still following the footprints.
    Then I see her -- the owner of the foot prints.
    She is also naked, but very thin, scrawny and dirty.
    I know why I'm out walking in the nude. What's she doing out here?
    I seem to remember that kids look cute in the nude, but this one looks anything but. Reminds me more of a goblin.
    She's digging away in the mud. Then she looks up at me. I'm not so embarrassed now -- not by someone looking like that. She just looks casually, and goes back to digging.
    After a while, she says, 'New here, aren't you.'
    I hesitate. 'I guess.'
    'I can tell. You 're still fat.'
    I'm not that fat -- well, compared to her maybe.
    She pulls a worm out of the mud and plops it into her mouth.
    'Yuuech! Why did you do that?'
    'Only thing there is to eat.'
    'What? Worms?'
    'Yep. There's also maggots, slugs, snails, if you're lucky you might find a mole.'
    'What is this place anyway?'
    'You are new here.'
    'How long have you been here?'
    'Long enough to quit ask'n.'
    This gets worse by the second!
    She looks as though she could have been a beautiful girl at one time. I think her hair is brown, but it's hard to be sure. It's long and straight in parts, but hopelessly knotted in others.
    'What's your name?' I ask.
    'Becky -- I think.'
    'You don't know?'
    'Do you know your name?'
    I suddenly realise I don't.
    'Does anyone else live around here?'
    'Sure! There's someone in every house. Some hardly ever come out though.'
    'Why?'
    'Scared, mostly. Some of them embarrassed to be nude.'
    'What about you?'
    'Stopped being embarrassed long ago. No sense in it. You starve - like Alec, the kid who lived in your house before you.'
    'My house?'
    'Yeah.'
    'How do you know where I live?'
    'I looked in your window and saw you sleeping. The house changed, so I knew someone new was there.'
    Then those were her hand prints I saw on my wall. Not that this makes any more sense than before.
    'Where can I find something to drink?'
    'I'll take you to Tony's house.'
    She gets up and starts walking. I follow her.
    We've passed dozens of houses, Probably goes on like this for miles, and not a single phone to call out for help. And still she's walking. She turns a corner every now and then.
    There are no straight lines here. The houses aren't in neat rows. You have to go around all of them, and find your way between them. Some are placed at an angle, some with only half a foot or a few inches in between, so you have to go the long way around.
    There's another kid digging for worms. I can't even tell if it's a boy or a girl. Becky just walks right past without a word.
    She notices me looking back.
    'Don't talk to him. He's a total scumbag.'
    Every now and then, I see more faces looking out at us. We pass more kids digging, or walking about. All of them look worse than pictures I've seen of starving children in African refugee camps. We're constantly having to step over and around holes where people have been digging.
    It's looking less and less like I'm going to get rescued.
    'How did we get here?' I ask.
    'Donno. I think we must'a died or something.'
    Died! Oh God! Then it is...
    We keep walking.
    'Were you a Christian?' I venture.
    'Must not'a been a good one if I was. I ended up here, didn't I!'
    Becky finally goes up the steps of a house, and knocks.
    So I'm dead. That's one question settled, anyway. But somehow I hadn't expected anything like this.
    The door is opened by a red haired boy who looks much healthier than Becky. He looks at her and sighs, 'You're such a leach!'
    Then he sees me. He says, 'Oh okay. Over there.' and points towards the kitchen.
    There's about six or so kids lined up. Some are older, some younger, mostly thin and scrawny.
    I take my place at the end of the line, behind Becky. The water only comes out at a trickle, so it's taking forever.
    A boy in front of Becky looks at me. 'You're new.'
    He turns around again without waiting for an answer.
    I don't seem to be shocked at all to see people nude. It suddenly seems totally natural. It's not like on Earth, where one or two parts of the body stand out. You just see the whole person at once.
    In fact, I think I've lost the ability to feel sexually stimulated.
    A couple of kids in front get into a fight. Tony comes to break it up. He acts as though he's everyone's big brother.
    'One more fast one out of you, and you're out, understand?' he says. 'Now, the rest of you, keep that line straight. We've got to keep this orderly.'
    He says to the kid in front of Becky, 'All this time you've been coming, you haven't gained any weight. Something's wrong with you.'
    'How can we?' he answers. 'You haven't been give'n us noth'n.'
    'It's because of you lot -- you're not appreciating it. You're not treating it right, so the blessing's stopped.' He sighs. 'I should be living inside the Heavenly City, but I was put here to make you all into an orderly community, not a bunch of rag-tag worm-digging louts. And you, Becky, your problem is, you're such a leach. Good of you to bring someone though, but if you'd quit being a leach you'd start getting blessed.'
    As he goes back to sitting down, Becky breaths, 'Oh! Shut up!'
    At long last it's my turn at the tap.
    I cup my hands and begin drinking.
    The water tastes terrible, but I drink anyway. It takes almost forever to satisfy my thirst.
    If I'm going to have to walk all this way every time I want a drink, I don't know.
    I return to the family room, and Tony is sitting against the wall. Becky is standing near the door.
    'How do you get your taps to run?' I ask.
    'Prayer is the answer, brother. Prayer opens doors that man can't open. The trouble is, no one prays. I get up before the sun rises every morning to pray. Some would rather look at the sunrise, but that won't get you anywhere. Prayer, and serious prayer is the answer, not sunbathing...' and goes off into a spiel that I'm sure I've heard before somewhere. Probably in church.
    Finally, we're outside again. Becky is taking me back. She seems to know the whole place like the back of her hand.
    'Do you have to go through all that every time you need a drink?' I ask.
    'I don't. I just suck the mud.'
    'Yuuech!'
    'Tony's water don't taste much better.'
    'No, it didn't!' I observe.
    'It used to taste better. Then he got an attitude. He won't even let me sit down in his house now. Says he gotta clean up after me. But soon his water will stop. Just watch. He'll be out sucking it out of mud like the rest of us. I seen it happen before.'
    'Where do you live?' I ask.
    'I don't know. I got lost right after I got here. It was a nice house though.'
    'Furnished?'
    'Houses here aren't furnished. We gotta furnish them ourselves.'
    'How could it be nice then?'
    'I liked the way the rooms were. Haven't seen no houses like it. I wish I could find it again. It gets cold outside at night.'
    I think about her and others sleeping outside. My house has plenty of space.
    When I look at her, I cringe.
    I can't blame Tony for not letting her sit on his floor. She's the last thing you'd want to have about.
    And yet... shall I?
    Naaaa.
    Well ...
    'Why don't you sleep in my house?' I blurt out.
    Why did I say that?
    'Can I? Really?'
    This is the first time I see anything like a smile on her face. I'm sure she was a very pretty girl once. Now I'm glad I invited her.
    We finally arrive at my house.
    'Why you have a rock in your door? Afraid you can't get back in?'
    I let her pick which room she wants to sleep in. I sleep in the little end room with the bay window.
    I can't see any stars.
    I try to pray.
    'God! What am I doing here? What is this place? Am I in heaven or hell? I believed in You. I still believe in you. Can you still hear me from where I am now?'
    Somehow, I think he can.
    'Please help me sort this place out!'
    I say the Our Father.
    I feel a bit better. I'm getting sleepy.
 

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