Amnesiac by Lois (15, Philippines)

Was I...supposed to be happy?
The cold numbed my fingers. Cotton muffled the noise of my jittering bones.
“Nice to meet you.”
There came my reserved whisper. I vaguely remembered muttering my name before giving a slight, instinctive bow and sitting on a comically familiar chair. 

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I have to be happy. After all, this was my dream school in my dream country, with my dream course and my dream future ahead of me. I am happy. Right?
There’s nothing but silence.
My dream classes in my dream school passed by quickly. Swiftly. Blurry. The cotton has not left my mind since I woke up in that hospital, bandaged and weak.
A woman, so gently, so softly, told me the story of how my family had passed in the ashes of my old house. I wondered then, and I wonder still, why do I feel nothing? It’s not the familiar sense of numbness, but a numbness mixed with confusion.
I feel sympathy, but only of an outsider who reads of a situation on the news.
I know nothing of this family. In fact, I know nothing of myself.
Wait, who?
The soft pit-patter of rain on the car window quickly became irritating. I clutched the cloth of my shirt, breath hitching. It has been three months since the incident, and I still know only little about myself.
Name. Mae. Surname. It doesn’t matter. Age. Seventeen. Friends. Only one. Hobbies. Apparently, I liked to write.
Apparently, I had written a couple books. And apparently, I liked Disney shows. Apparently, I was kind.
I knew all this through the diary I had apparently kept. It was not much help. And I sounded like a push-over. I decided I, apparently, didn’t like myself.
Nowadays, my heart keeps repeating an echoed phrase, each time much lower than the first. Was I...supposed to be happy?
“Smile, Mae-Mae!”
I forced my lips to quiver upwards. It was no hard work.
“How are you feeling?”
My ‘apparently’ best friend asked on the other end of the line. I remained quiet until I realized I had to speak. “There’s a deep feeling in my chest.”
Apparently, I was not honest.
“Have you remembered something?”
“I have.”
Silence. Oh, I have to tell her what it was.
“I remembered a name, but it wasn’t mine.”
There was a squeal. Bright, colorful excitement flowed into my best friend’s voice as she exclaimed. “Tell me!”
“Xandra...Do you know her?”
My ‘apparent’ Best friend hummed. “Xandra? Xandra...That’s–you remembered your character’s name! From that one book, the first one you ever wrote.”
“Book?” A rare skip in my heartbeat. “Do you know...where I can read it?”
There's an unnerving silence on the other end. “Do you remember sharing the documents with me every time you finished a chapter?” Her voice was strange, like the words are stuck on the back of her throat.
“I don’t.” Coldly. “I’m sorry.” Guilty.
“I’ll send you the documents.” Brokenly?
I sat the back of my neck on the cold metal of my chair. Patterns and webs stained the ceiling. A flash of wood. But this one was not wood. Not the familiar mahogany. Not the familiar chocolate-colored planks. My room stood in foreign silence.
‘Angel sent you a file.’ And it was then that the world tipped to darkness.
Thinking sapped me of my last left energy, so I stood swaying on the canopy of blackness. I saw
nothing, but I knew there was Mae.
Mae-Mae. Smiling. Very, very slightly.
“Should I be happy?” I found myself asking.
Mae-Mae answered in an airy, light voice. “I’m tired, please stop seeking me.” “I am also tired.” Annoyance lifted my voice.
“Not as much as I am.”
“Who am I?”
“You are Xandra. Cold, harsh, cool. I am not you.”
“Your family misses you.”
“I have no family.”
“You still have your best friend.”
“She is only a friend.”
“You are pathetic.”
“I know I am.”
“Then tell me, should I be happy?”
Mae-Mae took a moment to pause. “Yes, be as happy as you can.” “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“This is your world, not mine. I do not have your memories, and I do not have your feelings. I am not you, and you are not me.”
Sarcastic. “Naturally, I made you.” “Then kill me.”
Mae-Mae did not answer.
Finally, “I have nobody else.” “You have yourself.”
“I am not enough.”
“Naturally.” I mirrored her sarcasm. “But it’s been five years. And soon, we both will die.”
Mae-Mae’s stillness is apparent.
“This is a dare.” For the first time, my heart sang on-beat with joy. A cruel smile. “Unless...You’d prefer the truth?”
My chest heaved in relief. “Come back to them, Mae-Mae.”
The darkness broke into light, the stained ceiling coming into view. No memories of wooden planks.
Apparently, I was not a loser. 

Lois, a fifteen year old writer from the Philippines, started writing at the age of eleven and has fallen in love with it since. Aside from writing and reading, she enjoys watching sports, voice acting, and reading the news. ​
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