Rebirthing

Rebirthing now
I want to live for love, wanna live for you
In me for the first time now I can relax somehow

He blinked once. Twice. Looking around, he realized that he had no idea where he was. Not moving in case he was in some sort of trouble, he took stock of himself. He was lying on his back, and he was sore everywhere. Everything hurt, even things he was sure weren't supposed to. His surroundings were blurry, and no amount of blinking or closing his eyes made any difference. Deciding that he was accomplishing nothing here on his back, he sat up slowly. A pair of glasses was lying next to his foot, and he put them on, sighing when everything returned to focus.

He still didn't know where he was. Or how he'd gotten there. Pretty much everything was a complete blank, including who he was. Turning, he took notice of an enormous scorch mark not far from him. Based on how he'd been laying, he surmised that he'd been close to it when it exploded, and the resulting impact knocked him out? Having no other idea, he went with that one. He felt something go skittering out from under his foot, and looked down. A piece of wood was calmly resting beside him, and he was saddened to see that there were two pieces of it. He didn't think it was supposed to be in two pieces. Still, they might have been his at one time, and he'd need everything he could get his hands on.

Wandering around the scorch, he found the remains of what could have been a cup at one point, but was now nothing more than a twisted hunk of metal. Maybe this was what he'd torched? It was still mostly in tact, and he stomped down on it with his foot, and watched as it turned into ashes. A small puff of what might have been smoke lifted from it, and he sighed. He was still in pain, and still didn't know who he was. There was nothing for it, then, he'd simply have to leave the cave, and go find someone who could tell him about himself. There were no hints in the immediate area, and he ventured a little farther down the corridor. Tucked into a niche was a back pack, and it looked worn. Mud was caked onto it and started cracking off, and it seemed like it had been through a lot.

"You and me both, buddy," he said to it, and sat down with it. It felt familiar in his hands, and he closed his eyes, just touching it. His hands made their way down the satchel, and into a pocket. He found a funny bit of paper, folded up. Shrugging, he put it back. It meant nothing to him at this point. Reaching into the main section, he was surprised that there was more room in it than there should have been. It was a normal sized back-pack on the outside, but on the inside there was almost enough room for him to get into it. He found a cloak, and several sets of clothes, including pants, underwear, and shirts. There was a set of robes, too, and he didn't bother with them for long. A pair of muddy boots, and another bag were all that remained. He tugged the other bag out, and discovered food. He didn't know how long it had been sitting there, but it seemed okay, and he realized with a start that he was starving. He ate an apple, and decided to keep the rest. He seemed to have enough in here for a few days of backpacking. Inside the bag with the food was another bag, and he sighed. How long was this going to go on, anyway?

Inside the other bag was a sleeping bag, only in miniature. A broom, too, also miniaturized, and a tiny golden ball. Underneath the sleeping bag was a pile of pictures, and he eagerly dropped everything else in favour of these. There were plenty of two people, a man and a woman who looked vaguely familiar, and sometimes they were standing with a man wearing glasses. He took his own off, and compared them to the pictures, and decided that it was him in those pictures. He didn't know who the other two were, but they seemed happy together, and that was a good sign at least. He eyed himself. He was wearing muddy boots, and jeans, and a dirty jacket, like the other two, but he seemed to be in okay shape. He wasn't too unattractive, either, and he wondered what his name was. At the bottom of the pile was a picture of a blonde boy, smiling until he turned and saw the camera, at which point the easy smile became a dark glare. The sudden switch in emotions was startling, and he wondered which one was the real one. There were a few more pictures of this same blond, but none of them had him in them, like the first ones. Repacking everything the way he found it, he hefted the bag onto his shoulder, and shifted when it didn't lay right. Taking it off, he noticed another pocket he hadn't seen, and he rooted through it. There were two bags of coins, very strange looking coins with words like Galleon and Knut written on them. There were several wallets, and they each contained lots of green slips of paper, with varying numbers and pictures on them. In each of the wallets was a piece of plastic, and they all had his unmoving picture on them. The names varied, though, and sometimes he looked different in the pictures. Faelan Boyd, Harry Evans, Bradley Crawford, Drake Felton. The ages were different, too, and he wondered why one person would need so much money and identification. Blinking suddenly, he wondered if he wasn't in some sort of trouble. That would explain the mysterious back-pack, and cave. Maybe he'd been doing something and been ambushed? But why hadn't his money been taken?

Sighing, he shoved his thoughts from his mind. I've got to think of something to tell them, if anyone asks... It was obvious, he realized. He'd choose one of the wallets, and hide the rest, and tell the rest of the truth. He woke up in the middle of the forest with no memory, and no clue where he was. But which one? He didn't like any of the names really, and decided to just choose one at random before leaving the cave. Stopping again, he reached in and picked out a wallet, then hid the rest in the bag in the bag. Opening it, he sighed. Looks like he was to be Drake Felton, aged 23. His address was listed as being in America, and he wondered if that was where he was. He hadn't even given thought to what continent he'd been on, and the realization that he was completely alone scared him into movement. As of now, he had no friends, and no way of defending himself. He needed help, and needed to rely on strangers for it.