Fiction: Group 3
He crossed the street to the nearest place that sold food. He used spare change in his pocket from...well, he
didn’t know what...and paid for the most recognizable thing there. As he sat down to eat his sandwich in
the dimly-lit café, he tried to answer the three questions.
“Who am I?” He could recognise his face in his wallet picture, but that’s as far as he got. And who was
that girl with the bright smile and the curly, dark hair?
“Where am I?” Since everyone looked Chinese, he thought somewhere in China, but he couldn’t work
out where.
“Why am I here?” Maybe he lived here? Maybe he lived at the address in his wallet? He just couldn’t
work it out.
He gathered his thoughts and sat up, ready to face whatever was thrown at him next. His sandwich was
gone. All that remained were a few crumbs on the table. He must have been hungry. He stood up, the
windows glinted in the sunlight, and he walked out the door.
