Happy Saturday!

***

Darkness. Though the white walls and lights were so bright, it strained my eyes, I couldn't remember anything but blackness. It was like I was peering at my surroundings in a pitch black room. I couldn't remember.

In front of me sat a man. He was bulky, and that was putting it mildly. The man in front of me was huge, intimidating. Some reflex inside of me tensed up, though I wasn't sure why. He didn't say anything for a while. He just stared at me. I was sitting upright on a white couch, surrounded by white furniture. It was like a snow storm. It's easier to compare such things now that I've learned so much. Back then, the things around me had no definitions, had no descriptions, and had no significance.

It was scary to think about it now. I knew absolutely nothing at all. It was like I was born in the body of a teenager, incapable of remembering anything before that first day.

Since the man in front of me didn't speak, I took the time to look around me, to take everything in. I had no knowledge; it was almost like my brain was trying to obtain as much information as it could since it had nothing to begin with. The room was-shocking-white. All of the furniture in the room was perfectly stainless. The couch and matching pillows, the coffee table in front of me, the uniform of the man sitting across from me, everything in the adjoining rooms. There were four walls, making this new home-for me-into a great, big box. There were several rooms in the box: the living room, the kitchen/dining room, the bedroom and the bathroom. All of the walls shared by the rooms were see-through. There weren't any lights that I could control in these rooms, either. The ceiling was also see-through with big, white, intense lights shining in from above. Everything was perfectly lit up, though. There were no windows, and there was only one door: the one with a big, sign above it saying "EXIT". The "EXIT" sign was illuminated by red letters, making it the only thing in this place that wasn't white or sterling silver (the refrigerator, sinks, and countertops).

My attention flickered back to the man across from me. He was wearing a white, nurses-aid suit. There was a red cross on the front of his shirt, on the left over the pocket. His shoes were a brilliant white, making him fit in perfectly with the rest of the room. Unfortunately for me, I didn't fit in at all. I wore deep, dark black. I studied his features more carefully and compared them to my own.

He had short, brown hair. I had shoulder-length, blonde hair. He had intense, brown eyes. I had bright, blue eyes. His nose was sharp as were the rest of the bones in his face. Mine were soft, rounded and babyish. His upper lip was more dominant, jutting out slightly further than the bottom lip. They were thin and pale pink. Mine were full, my bottom lip always seemingly swollen; they were glossy and red. I had freckles on my cheeks and nose; the nurse's skin was flawless. Even I had dimples on my cheeks. The only thing we had in common was our teeth. My smile was perfect-filled with pure white, flawless teeth. It almost mirrored his own. My white teeth were the only thing that matched the room I was in. Whereas the nurse fitted in more, almost born from the room itself.

In front of me was the white coffee table again. I hadn't noticed before, but there was a piece of white paper with hard, black letters typed over it. I raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at it and reached to pick it up. The nurse slapped the table, hard. I froze. Other than that, I made no other gesture. For some reason, I wanted to be scared, but it wasn't in my nature to be.

"That's for later," he finally said in a rough, scratchy voice.

"What is it?" I found my voice too and realized that I had the ability to speak, though I didn't remember how I learned.

"You'll see."

I waited a long moment again, hoping that he would say something else. I withdrew my hand from the air and folded it back over my lap. He didn't ease from his stance, nor did he calm down. His gaze held mine with his own and I waited some more. When he didn't say anything, I spoke.

"Well, if that's for later, what's for now?"

"What's your name?" he said abruptly.

I paused. I didn't know. Had I a name? A title? Something that was supposed to be familiar to me seemed so out of reach. I started to get a headache as I reached in the darkness for something tangible, something sounding vaguely like my name. Nothing came to me. I groaned and forced out an, "I don't know," through clenched teeth. What was this emotion?

"Samantha Margaret Ford. Say it back."

"Samantha Margaret Ford."

"Good. How old are you?"

Damn it! I had no idea. "I don't know."

A smile escaped his hard façade and I blinked rapidly at it. He quickly went back to being a terrifying, intimidating interrogator as he said, "You're twenty."

Twenty? Why couldn't I remember being the other nineteen?

He asked me another question, "Where are you?"

I had to bite my tongue to keep from screaming. Why couldn't I remember anything?! I shook my head so I wouldn't be tempted to cuss him out with words I didn't know the meanings of.

"The White Room. Say it." How clever.

"The White Room."

"No, say all of it."

I took a deep breath, "I am Samatha Margaret Ford. I'm twenty and I'm in the White Room."

"Good." He leaned back and gestured toward the other item on the table in front of me. What in God's name...? It was yellow and looked like it came out of somewhere that I didn't care to find out. It was almost like someone had massacred a yellow bird... It was sitting next to two squares. They were brown and there was something soft on top, smeared imperfectly and disorderly across the top.

"What is it?" I asked, horrified.

"Food. Eat it."

I raised an eyebrow at him again. "What? Why?"

"If you don't, you'll die."

I hesitantly reached out for the white plate. Next to it was a stainless steel fork sitting on top of a white napkin. I grabbed that too and brought it closer to me, hoping that if I didn't like whatever I was going to put into my mouth, I could get rid of it by putting it back into the napkin. I stabbed a piece of the yellow stuff and put it in my mouth. It wasn't bad, actually, it just smelled funny. I put down the fork and grabbed a square. Why was it that I could remember words for some nouns, but not others? I took a small bite from the square and raised the corner of my mouth in satisfaction. It was good.

"What're they called?"

"Scrambled eggs and toast."

"Which is which?"

The nurse smiled again for a millisecond then stated in a dry, humorless voice, "The things you eat with the fork are scrambled eggs. The other things are toast."

I nodded. I wouldn't ever forget.

I set the plate back down and instantly regretted it. His hand slammed into the table again. "All of it!" he commanded. Yeesh. What crawled up his ass and died? I frowned and picked up the plate again and slowly at the eggs. I wanted so badly to race to finish eating, but it was almost like another thing inside of me flipped a switch and I was being rebellious, taking my sweet old time just to irk the man nurse. After a while, I set the empty plate down on the table and wiped my mouth with the napkin. It was soft, almost comforting.

"Now the paper."

I narrowed my eyes and grabbed the paper on the table in front of me. I looked at the first word and immediately recognized that it was my name.

Samantha,

I know it's terrible of me to do this to you. And I hope that one day you'll understand that I did it because I need you to know how much I I thought it would be best for you. You're so strong and smart, I know that you'll beat this. I know that when the time is right, you'll realize that everything that I did was so we could be for you to have a chance at happiness.

I would have loved to be there to watch you open this letter, but it would be too hard for me. And I think you'll be just fine without remembering the kind of relationship me. Until you realize that in order for everything to go as planned, you'll be slowly forced to remember. But that day won't come if you don't cooperate. You'll be subjected to this room, and only this room until you can remember. And I hope it's sooner rather than later. It would be heaven to have you in my

I suppose this is goodbye, Samantha. I'm giving you only the finest literature, hopefully, these tales will help you realize what life was like before. I can't say too much now for the fear that you will again turn into that remember too quickly and ruin the process.

Until next time,

-M

I looked up at the male nurse, who was staring at me in shock. I guess he expected me to start crying at the letter that I assumed was supposed to be comforting or a goodbye or maybe quite possibly a hello. But it wasn't comforting. It was torturous. Who the hell is M? The letter explained nothing to me. It didn't tell me that why I couldn't remember anything except that it was essential in order for everything to go as planned. What was everything? What was the plan?

"What is this?" I snapped.

"It's a letter."

"What for?"

The male nurse blinked. "I'm sorry, Sam, I don't understand the question. The letter was supposed to explain-"

"The letter was supposed to explain why I was in this hell hole and that was supposed to be comforting, right? Well, the letter tells me a lot of bullshit and I want to know who the fuck M is." After I said the words, I pursed my lips. These words that I didn't know the meanings for felt natural. It was like I had used them before, learned them before but didn't know it until they were out in the air, floating around me.

"I'm not supposed to tell you anything."

"Can you tell me your name?"

He thought about it for a second, "Jackson."

"Can you tell me where I am?"

"You're in the White Room. Say it."

I growled and ground my teeth together. That emotion that I didn't know was coming back again. "No! I'm not saying it again. I know I'm in the White Room, I know my name is Samantha Ford, and I know that I'm twenty years old. I know that I don't remember anything about the previous nineteen and I know that I'm not supposed to be here."

"How?" he raised his eyebrow.

"Because!" I slammed the paper back down on the table. "Because if I were supposed to be here, Jackson, I would remember why I was supposed to be here in the first place. I don't remember anything."

"That's the point, Samantha."

His response caught me off guard. That was the point? The point of what, exactly? Why was everyone being so damn cryptic?

"Did I consent to being here? Did I consent to letting you put me in this room so I don't remember anything?"

He nodded, "Yes." Another shock.

"Why?"

"Because it's essential for the plan, Samantha."

"What fucking plan?" I ground my teeth again.

He closed his eyes, "I can't tell you. It'll mess up the plan."

I threw my hands in the air and my body followed suit. I groaned in exasperation. I hadn't realized up until that moment that when I stood up, Jackson stood up with me, his entire expression changed in front of me and he held something black in his hands, aimed right at my chest. I blinked twice at the weapon. It was a gun. That wasn't something I was likely to forget.

"Do you know what this is?"

Shouldn't I be afraid? My heart rate stayed exactly where it was. God, I was fearless. I wanted to be afraid, but the switch inside of me was turned on and suddenly I was someone else. Maybe I was the girl before? The one who could remember consenting to sitting in this God-awful room for some stupid reason.

"Yes." I hesitated for a second, then added, "Your safety's on."

Jackson's mouth fell to the floor and his thumb slowly made its way to the safety on the left side of the gun. He flicked it off.

"Why're you pointing a gun at me, Jackson?"

"Why'd you stand up?"

"Because I'm pissed off."

He nodded, "Then that's the reason there's a gun aimed at your heart. You should know, though I doubt you remember, I never miss my shot."

"I doubt you remember, Jackson, but neither do I." Had I just said that? I couldn't remember ever shooting a gun before. Nor could I remember if that was a true statement or not.

"I do."

It was true. Holy shit! I took a deep breath to calm myself.

"What's the date?" I asked.

He narrowed his eyes and said in a low voice, "There's a calendar, an alarm clock, and three books sitting on the kitchen counter. He wanted you to know that he hand-picked the books himself. He thought maybe that would help spark some memories."

"Why don't I remember anything?"

"All part of the plan, remember?"

I narrowed my eyes, "Poor choice of words, Jackson." I turned and walked out of the room to the kitchen. He was right. There was a calendar opened to the month of November. The day 22 was circled in red marker as was there one word written in the box: TODAY. I swallowed. There was no year on the calendar, either. It was like someone made sure to remove the year from every page (including the front and back covers). I was totally lost. Maybe...?

"What's the year?" I said, knowing that Jackson was still behind me, holding that gun to my back.

"I can't tell you."

I ignored him, trying not to get too irritated that he was good for absolutely nothing. He couldn't even pull a gun on me correctly. And now... he had a gun to my back. Dick move. "Jackson, what kind of man are you? To shoot someone in the back is a little harsh, don't you think?" I turned around and quickly took a step forward so the gun was pointed at my heart. "There, now if you're going to shoot me, do it. Otherwise, put the gun away."

He frowned and then finally groaned and dropped the gun to his side.With a swift movement, he put the gun back where it came from.

"Thank you." I turned back around to the items on the counter. "What am I supposed to do while I'm here?"

"Read, I presume."

"There's nothing to do."

"I'll be here sometimes. We could play games."

I frowned, "Who is M?" I asked again.

Jackson walked around the counter so he could sit on the bar stool. "I can't tell you that, Samantha."

"What can you tell me?"

He shook his head, "It's complicated. You said so yourself that this was going to happen: you wanting to know everything right off the bat. If I tell you, everything will come rushing back so fast... he might lose you."

"Who?"

"Er... M."

"Is M short for his first name?"

He shook his head again, "I can't tell you that either. He made it very clear that I wasn't to tell you anything about him. He wanted you to have the letter and the books but other than that, he wants you to remember him because you want to remember him. Not because I told you that you want to remember him."

"I want to remember!"

"Then remember. Just do it without me."

I glanced up at the ceiling, hoping to find the answers to my questions (all fifty-seven-trillion of them floating around inside of my new, clear, empty brain) when I noticed something that caught me off guard. There were cameras in every corner of every room. How had I not noticed that before? I glanced over at Jackson, who was still staring at me. "What's with the cameras."

He glanced at one of them and his face got really pale. "They're watching you."

"Who is?"

His voice got really low and his eyes pleaded for me not to make any indication that he was talking. He made his body seem as if he were just shrugging when really, he was telling me something.

I almost missed the words that came out of his mouth. His lips didn't move but two hushed breaths exited his parted lips, "The Watchers."