I look out the window and I am here, I can just remember that. Somewhere in Manhattan. I think we are on first years of XXI century, but I cannot specify the year. I am ill, stupidly ill, who gets ill in the United States. I can answer that: just an idiot does. There is a black receptionist, called Tim, who brings me the medicines. I just look out the window for hours and hours. I am trembling. I am scared. Scared of who or what? I cannot remember, sorry. I just can remember I am in a hotel room in Manhattan, XXI century.
I have one suitcase near the bed: ten shirts will be enough. I’m not American or English and this is not my language but this is all I can remember right now. Manhattan. XXI century. It is me shivering; it is me imaging a cold mountain plenty of Sun… I can breathe calm waiting for another day. What’s the objective of this game? I cannot remember anything about my mission but I can feel that I really have one mission. I am here for one reason and the actual objectives of the game in this point are:
1.- Who am I.
2.- What is the mission.
I just know one thing: the objective it’s fixed by my identity and my identity it’s fixed by the objective. I must work on that, I must work on me. I’ve been in similar situations many other times. You know who are you? Really, I’m in a hotel room in Manhattan, XXI century. You sure? Are you really sure this is not a dream again?
I need to sleep again.
Day I, later
I’m still here. The suitcase is still near the bed. I need to approach it, maybe the solution it’s there. I move up, I’m weak, I’m tired… outside, the lights turn on. Someone is there. Who? There’s a note under the door, I will read it later. Now, I am near the suitcase. It’s opened. There’re some clothes, man clothes. Yes, I am a man: my first stupid conclusion. I find a passport and I find my name: John B. Mirror, what a stupid name! It cannot be mine! I cannot remember to be John Mirror but that’s the only clue in this deal. According to the passport, John Mirror had been here from 1st September 2010. At least, I had one date and one name. But my mind is still confused: I’m not John B. Mirror. I continue seeking in the suitcase, just a travel book: Poland, by John B. Mirror. Am I a travel writer? It would explain some, but not all. The book is not special: some photos and some descriptions about Poland, where to eat… same stupid book, same stupid words by John Mirror… but I am not John Mirror. I am sure of that.
I advance some steps across the room. City lights over my face. It’s late at night. It’s Manhattan, maybe if I read the note under the door I will understand something. I’m there. The envelope is open. Inside, just that:
Game’s not over
I can hear steps outside. I’m ill. I cannot think, I cannot move. Run? Steps come close. I need to move faster. The temperature is getting up. I cannot move. I fall.