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[b][center]Milo Heartworth[/center][/b]

He felt a breeze touch his face and his hands lifted to wipe the sleep from his eyes. Sitting up, he crossed his legs underneath him and yawned, stretching his arms outwards. There was a tiny burst of pain as he hit his hand against the wall. He sucked in air through his teeth and inspected the back of his hand. His knuckles were red and tender. When he touched them with his other hand it stung and he instinctively flinched. He couldn't remember how it had happened. 

When he finally looked up and deeper into the room, he realized that he didn't know where he was. This room was completely alien to him. Even scarier, he couldn't remember what room he should be in. The ceiling was bright, white panels spread throughout filling the room with light. He found no windows - where had the breeze come from? For that matter, there was no door. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, it all had a very modern sleek look - industrial. The implications whirled inside his brain. Was he kidnapped? Drugged? Had he been at a party? No matter how hard he tried to recall the previous nights, the more disconcerting his current predicament became. The real worry, was when he tried to think farther back, only to receive a big nothingness. A dark void where his memories should be. There was nothing there, not even glimpses. Not even a name. He could feel the panic inside him build. It was at war with something, an emotion he couldn't really get a grip on. 

As his eyes darted around the room, they landed on a coffee table at the center in front of a small modern love-seat. On the coffee table, he could see various items. A photograph caught his attention. There were two boys in it. Detangling himself from the covers, he approached the coffee table with caution and inspected the photograph. He turned it around to see if there were any dedications, but there was nothing. Flipping it back over, he noticed that the two boys in the photograph were twins, but he didn't recognize who they were. Had he known them? A birthday card, warn and dirty, had been laying beside the photograph and he now inspected it. 

"Forgive me, Mom." His heart gave a thump at hearing his own voice. It was like hearing it for the first time, even though he logically knew that he wasn't just born a few seconds ago and that he must have heard his own voice millions of times before. It was odd nevertheless. 

The card had balloons and a birthday cake on it. On the cake, was the picture of a clown. It might be grinning, but the eyes weren't quite right. He picked up the glasses that were laying on the table and put them on to inspect the clown in the picture farther. He jumped slightly when the world distorted and the clown seemed to have jump off the card and into his face. He took them off again and of course the clown was where it had always been. He dropped it onto the table. He felt his fist clench and he wanted to pound the card into the table, to rip it to shreds. Only he didn't know why. 

After trying the glasses for a second time, he decided he didn't need them. They were definitely not his. He could actually see very well and seemed to have very good vision. This good vision allowed him to find the bear. It was on the floor, placed in front of a cracked mirror. The mirror itself had a sheet of paper written on it with he name of a university. 

[i]How can I know that it's the name of a university and what university it is, if I can't remember my own name,[/i] he thought. He picked up the bear and read the name tag, "Milo Heartworth. Something seemed to click in his brain, like the snapping of a button. That was his name. There was no doubt about it. As soon as he had read it, the name had become a part of him. 

Still holding the bear, he peered at the letter. It was an acceptance letter and now that he knew his name, he realized that this letter was addressed to him. He had been accepted to a university in France. The Ecole Normale Supérieure, Paris. The words sounded French in his head and he spoke them out loud. It was perfect, with no American accent or inflection. So he knew french. Très Bien. Not that it did him any good in this door-less room. He decided to put the letter away in his sleeping-shorts pocket. The shorts were made of cotton and were likely for working out, but he didn't remember ever buying them, though by now he deduced that he did work out, based on how he felt and the feeling of his muscles and stomach. 

When he looked in the mirror it was like slamming into a moving truck. His face - he was one of the boys in the photograph. His hands felt his cheeks and his nose and he waved his hand around to make sure it was him in the mirror. He went back to the photograph and sure enough, he looked like them. He was in the picture, even if he couldn't tell which one of the two he was. He looked back at his face through the cracked mirror. He had a twin brother. His fist clenched and his knuckles stung again slightly. He brought it up to his face and then looked at the mirror. He had been the one to crack the mirror. He didn't know why or when, but he knew he had done. Perhaps it was even recent, if the pain was anything to go on. 

He jumped back and prepared for a fight when he heard gears turning and air releasing as a panel in the wall opposite him opened to reveal a large hallway. Voices echoed through the halls. He could see a large chamber at the very end of the hall. A few people passed in front of his room, going horizontally through the hallways that was perpendicular to the one he could see. Milo walked out slowly, turning to look around. Everyone looked panic and shocked. He made his way to the center and was about to ask someone what was going on when he saw them looking up in awe. He looked up too, and couldn't understand what he saw. Through the enormous domed window, there was space. In that vast space, was a planet. He wasn't sure if it was Earth or not, but it was definitely a planet.