The boy was running as fast as he could, heart pounding, through the darkened corridors. He passed doors on his left and right, but didn't dare to go through a single one.
Then he saw him.
A figure stood in the center of the hallway. It was a frail man, middle-aged wearing a three piece suit tainted by age. His malnourished features made his menacing eyes pop out even more than they already did. With dark hair and five o' clock shadow, he was the very incarnation of melancholy.
The boy stopped in his tracks about ten yards away from him. "Why?" He panted. "Why did you do this to me?"
The man produced a sickening smile full of rotting teeth. "You shouldn't be here. It's time for you to wake up."
"Wake up?" The boy was confused. "The fuck do you mean?"
"Good morning, Dre."
He woke up with a jolt, to a distant beeping.
"Where am I?" He scratched his head, before realizing a deeper worry. "Who am I?"
Good morning, Dre.
"Dre." He began to stand up. "That's right."
The name felt clunky and unfamiliar to him, though - like a foreign word. He examined his surroundings, quaint as they were. Dre was in a small bedroom, with a bare twin sized bed and nightstand. At the far corner of the room was a door, and on the wall adjacent to him was a window.
"This... Isn't my room." Dre turned around to face the corner he woke up in, and cringed back in shock. The area was covered in scratch marks and blood. "What the hell?" He yelled. A quick examination of his person showed a tight T-shirt pulled over his skinny torso and a pair of baggy white pants. No blood or wounds.
Dre closed his eyes and composed himself. This is just a dream. He thought. You'll be fine, you're just hallucinating or something.
When he opened his eyes, he caught sight of a peculiar object - a climbing pick nestled in the corner.
Dre leaned down and picked it up. It felt natural in his hand - the first thing that had felt natural so far. "Huh. Guess I'll be keeping this."
He exited the room, and went down a spiral staircase to find himself in the foyer. After a quick examination of his surroundings that yielded no notable results, he approached the front door and opened it.
Standing there was an attractive young woman in pajamas holding a flashlight.
Both parties stared at each other for a few seconds, equally confused. The girl had kind features, but with edgy nuance that portrayed hints of a "bad girl."
Eventually, she spoke up. "Who are you?"
Dre pondered this for a moment. "Um... Dre." He nodded, unsure of whether he was attempting to reassure this girl or himself. "Yeah, Dre. That's it. What's your name?"
She looked extremely concerned, still holding the flashlight like a weapon. "Charlie." Another pause. "Why are you in my dead neighbor's house?"
Immediately, Dre's eyes widened. "I-I have no idea." He stammered. "I just woke up upstairs, and found this..." He held up the climbing pick. "I don't even remember who I am. I just... I'm... I don't know." He sighed, then squinted at the girl. "How did you know that I was in your dead neighbor's house?"
Charlie lowered the flashlight, looking more concerned than relaxed now. "I live across the road, and I heard someone yelling. I assume that was you?"
Dre nodded and rubbed his head, embarrassed. "Yeah, sorry."
Outside, a fog had began coming in. The streets were dead at the moment, with nary a car to be seen.
Charlie leaned forward. "You don't remember anything?" She shook her head. "God, kid. You can't be more than sixteen." The girl began examining him from top to bottom.
This woman is thorough. Dre thought. "Where are we? Geographically, I mean."
"Seattle." Charlie responded, and then waved for Dre to follow her. "Come with me back to my place, Dre. I'll get you something to eat. You like cereal?"
Dre nodded. "I... Think so." He followed her outside, shutting the door behind him. "You'd really do that for me?"
"Sure thing. You seem out of your element right now, and I feel I could help you out." She sighed and shook her head once more. "Man, this feels like the start of a very weird day."