Noises, laughter, scream. He opened his eyes to see the white ceiling-fan rolling, the blades running after one another as if catching the other blades was the only thing they were created to do. Despite the ceiling fan, despite the speed at which it was rolling the heat was too much, unbearable. He was sweating profusingly, and even the bed he slept on was wet. Everything was blurry hat he brought out his hand to clear it. His eyes roamed the room to the parts he can see, scanning every corner slowly as if the noise that woke him was the noise of thief. He saw the shelves, which contained different shoes, shoes of different colours – black, brown, white, red, and other colours. His heart lurched the moment he saw his clothes: they were extremely beautiful.
The expression that might be found on a man that had just woken up is the grim expression, and this was the expression on his face, but he was not having such expression because it was typical of a person just waking; rather, he was having the expression because he just can’t help it, because he did not remember anything, anything about where he was, anything about himself, anything about he did sometimes before. The room of someone who is just waking is supposed to be his/her room, but he is sure he has never seen that room before in his life. The shoes should be his own but he can’t remember ever putting any of them on, the clothes on the hanger were his own but he can’t remember ever putting any of them on; not the shirt, neither the polo nor the trousers.
His phone vibrated and rang the moment he placed his back on the wall. He decided to stop breathing, and then started breathing very slowly, very very slowly as he began to look at the room again. He can’t remember anything, not a single thing and this annoys him. He smacked his head.
In addition, he looked at his phone, which was still vibrating to see who the caller was.
He did not have any love or did he? He picked the call
‘Hello, Jerry, dear, how are you?’ the voice of a lady said with happiness radiating in.
‘I’m fine…’ he replied, then changed his mind, ‘I’m not fine… I’m not fine… Please who are you?’
‘Jerry, what are you saying?’
‘I don’t you… I don’t who you are’.
‘What are you saying, you don’t know me. Jerry, who is there with you?’
‘Here with me? Of course, nobody’, Jerry replied. At the same time, one of the girls among the children playing outside snickered loudly.
‘Is that not the voice of a lady?’
‘You are a liar…You are cheating on me’.
‘Cheating you? I don’t even know you’.
‘Ah! Jerry, you are a pretender, and I know what to do for you’.
The call went off. Jerry stared at the phone with his mouth open widely as he his eyes darted from one part of the room to another. HE smacked his head again.
‘Where am I?’
‘Who am I?’
‘What is wrong with me?’
He asked himself as he rose from the medium size bed he was sleeping. He was putting on a blue silk boxer, and just his singlet. He stepped out of the bed on to the brown rug, examining the room absentmindedly.
‘What is wrong with me?’ He muttered as he closed the door again.