Amnesia

Slowly, as you lie there on the cool bedspread, it dawns on you that you have absolutely no idea where you are. A hotel room, by the look of it. But with the curtains drawn. You don’t know in what city, or even what country.

Then the blank of WHERE AM I? balloons into the bigger, the total blank of WHO AM I? It’s a question without an answer. Your memory is an open book — with every page blank. You have no name, no known address, no memories of friends or relatives, or schools or jobs. You have … AMNESIA.