I know I have like… 2 other stories I'm actively writing for, but this idea popped into my head and I'm using it. XD

The victim sputtered, stumbling through the streets of Toronto at approximately three twenty eight A.M on a Wednesday. Her head hurt with a burning fire of a thousand suns, back aching just as bad. Her high heel shoes scraped against the back of her heels against fresh blood blisters while the nameless girl trying to find her way to the nearest police station.

That was all she knew, that her feet and back really hurt. No wallet, no purse, not even a name to place to herself. With the little logic she held, police seemed like the best people to go to. As she tucked her bangs behind her ears, she considered how lucky she was to be walking in a warm night and not through winter. In fact, she noticed she was hot. Looking down at her attire, she slid off the blazer to reveal a white tank top. Her black capris made a distinctive slippery noise with each stride. She was dressed for dancing at a club. It then occurred to her that none of her clothes were ripped.

Whatever had happened to her, she wasn't sexually assaulted and she was more than proud at that fact.

She jumped at the cat calls from drunken men that whizzed by in taxis. She started to jog in bare feet, using the balls of her feet to avoid any sharp rocks and glass upon the ground. The slapping noise was all that registered within her ears, finding a police car, a station, or individual in uniform the most important base of her existence. As soon as she reached a street filled with lights, she slowed down. To her surprise, with all that running, she wasn't out of breath. Better for her, she supposed, slapping her bare feet against the dirty ground.

She touched her throat, feeling like she had swallowed sand paper. She entertained herself with the noise her mouth made when she opened it, showing just how dehydrated she really was. She coughed into her hand and took note of the blood drops that appeared. Victim accidently cut herself with her jagged nails while scratching an itch. Upon further inspection, blood was dried under the whites of her nails and beside her eye, invading her peripheral vision. With each step, her ankle started to hurt more than before. Her head was suddenly heavy, due to the fact she was unconscious for so long.

She slipped off her shoes, carrying them through the empty streets. It was deadly quite that night; she could practically hear the blood that slipped down the side of her face starting at her temple. It wasn't bad, but it was enough to have a slight twinge of pain. While she shuffled, she felt in her pockets for anything once more. Now wallet, no identification, but a waded up five dollar bill, she turned into the nearest convenience store and bought a bottle of water. It was gone within seconds, bottle discarded into the nearest recycling bin she could find.

Feeling more alive with water in her system, she started to recount the facts she knew. She wasn't sexually assaulted, no one took all her money, and her worst wounds was upon her calve which was a deep cut that had long stopped bleeding. Then again, she hadn't seen the state of her face. It didn't hurt badly, but who knew. She seemed roughed up, but didn't seem like she got into a fight bad enough to cause her a gap in memory. Had she been at a bar? At a meeting? She looked like she was dressed for work at a government building or something along those lines. Victim hated this guessing game, so she kept her mind quite while looking around for a station. Victim yawned and staggered, wanting nothing more than to lie down and sleep through it all. Perhaps this was all a dream and she would wake up with a name to put to her-self.

As if a gift from the divine, a glowing white light glowed from down the road. She ran, rows of police cars coming into view. She laughed, the sound of her voice rather a surprise to herself. She squinted, reading the sign that read 'Division Fifteen'. The banister within an iron grip, she managed up the stairs into the glass building. No one seemed to even notice her existence, which nearly made her lose her faith in law enforcement. She pressed on, holding onto the desk for support. Victim looked at the clock with read '3:59' in flashing red lights.

"Hello?" Her voice cracked in high tones, not nearly as loud as she anticipated she would be. She knocked against the front desk with her fist, using all her strength to make an echoing boom through the station. Again, this wasn't as nearly as loud as anticipated. She assumed all the cops were having a meeting or perhaps there was an emergency somewhere in the town that collect most, if not all, police's time and man power. She walked around the desk and into the station, not caring if it was illegal or not. There, at the farther end of the station sat a few police officers, heads down into their papers.

"Excuse me?" Her voice sounded weaker, more upset, than Victim had wished.

One police officer turned immediately at the sound of her soft voice, blinking for a moment. He looked taken aback as he stood, jutting out a hip and crossing his arms. In any other situation, Victim would have insisted he was attractive. Alas, other matters were at hand. He scrutinized her existence, tilting his head a few times before realizing something was really wrong with her. He stepped closer, placing both hands on either of her shoulders. Victim looked down, reading his nametag.

"Officer… Swarek? I need help, I woke up in an alley way quite a few blocks down and I don't remember anything. I need medical assistance, and I don't even remember my name, and-"

"Andy?" Her choked, clearly upset with something. Victim looked down at herself, then back to his eyes which were wide and glossy with pending tears.

"Andy? Is… is that my name?"

I'll write as fast and well as I can, if anyone is interested.

xoxoPN