Her

She doesn't know what happened to her. She doesn't know how she got here, or even where she is. She doesn't even know who she is. All she knows is that she woke up in a snowy town, in someone's backyard. She doesn't even know how she knows what a backyard is. But she does, somehow.

As she wanders through the streets, she wonders what she will do, how she will survive. Because what can she do?

And as she walks, she observes the people around her, trying to figure out if they're anyone she knows. If any of them spark any recognition in her.

She watches as a girl and her mother stride purposefully by, their chestnut hair billowing behind them in the wind. A young man strolls through the snow, carrying a folder. A piece of paper flies out of it, and she helps him retrieve it. She sees a few middle aged men on bicycles, talking loudly about clients, possibly heading to work.

But none of them awaken any memory in her at all.

After a while, she has the sensation of being watched, and she turns around to see the young man from before standing behind her.

"Hello," he says, and he smiles at her. "You're not from here, are you?"

"No, I'm not," she says, a little hesitantly. "You are, I suppose?"

"Oh, I live here all right." he says. "What brings you here?"

"Just stuff, you know." she says, trying to seem nonchalant. His eyes study her carefully, and she can't help but shiver and look away under his scrutiny.

"I think you'd better come with me," he says. She takes and step away from him. "Don't worry," he says, sensing her uneasiness. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just... would like to know a little more about you. It seems like we could get on very well indeed."

"All right," she says, because he seems about her age, whatever age she is, and because in her short memory, she has never seen anyone quite so attractive.

"Good." he says. "Follow me."