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Description
Harry
It was the morning of October 12 that things began to change. I woke up that morning like any other. I had only toast and jelly for breakfast before my two kids woke up. I was sitting at the table reading the newspaper, and I heard the toaster rattle. Grabbing my plate I walk towards the counter and then I was putting it in the sink, sprinkled in crumbs. I had eaten my toast without realizing it. The kitchen became blurred and gray as my children ate breakfast and prepared for school. The office building appeared before me as I drove up to it in my car. Had most of the morning just disappeared before me? My memory held nothing as I tried to call it to the morning. What about me saying goodbye to my family before I left? Had that happened? I couldn't remember. The rest of the day went by like that, not really remembering anything, but acting completely rational nonetheless. I couldn't remember what I had for lunch or what time I left the office. How had my memory failed me like this? I went to bed, with no emotion that I can remember, and hoped that a little rest would help me. I awoke the next morning to the same thing. The day got blurrier and blurrier until…
"How are you feeling Mr. Jones?" I was sitting in the hospital with a doctor standing above me. It felt like there was a giant stone in my stomach, my face felt bristly, and the light blasted my eyes when I looked at it.
"Its Adams, not Jones," I muttered.
He apparently didn't hear me or chose not to hear me, because the doctor then asked me, "would you like to see your wife?"
Clearing my throat, I say louder this time, "yes". The woman who walked in my room was not my wife. Things began to get really weird for me then. "You're not my wife," I croaked out.
"Of course I'm your wife, Harry," she replied, and leaned over and hugged me. "Don't you remember?" Yes, of course I remember. I thought back, and saw that my life was not this, I was Corey Adams, not Harry Jones, and my wife was not this woman. Either this was some cruel joke or something really was wrong here. But what exactly was wrong here? Maybe they had the wrong guy here? But if I was in the hospital my real family would be here and they would know who I am. I didn't know of any twin I had. What about what had happened recently? My memory had been going fuzzy lately, but I wasn't old enough to have Alzheimer's. I had never had this problem in my life either, no sort of blackouts. But it felt like an early childhood memory, the type you know is there but can't completely fill in.
"What is really going on here?" I asked, completely lost.
"You've been in a coma for the past 51 days, Mr. Jones." A coma, I thought to myself, but I've lived another life for 39 years. And I supposedly have this life too? I slowly came to realize the truth, now that the doctor told me, that before being Corey Adams, I was in fact, Harry Jones. And now that I have woken up from this coma, I am him once again. My ID confirmed it well enough.
"We're going to keep you here a while longer Mr. Jones," said the doctor.
"Well, how long?" I asked him.
The doctor replied, "We'll have to get you strong enough to actually walk out of here, maybe another week." Very well, I thought, after this my life can hopefully return to normal. They brought me a meal, the type you get from a hospital, and as I slowly ate, I found that the memories I had during that coma were not going away. And they were not complete life memories; they felt like a few months of memories with a slight glimpse of a history. After eating my meal, a nurse directed me through a series of simple exercises to get me back on my feet. What would become of these memories? They weren't necessarily real, and if they were real, they were not my own. I would have to accept that these memories would stay with me and served no real purpose. I had bigger concerns anyways, like getting back to working. I was released eight days later and couldn't feel better.
Corey
October 13, I woke up to an unusually chilly house, and an unusual gap in my memory. August 21 had passed without warning, and no memories existed in between. As I looked away from the calendar, panic started to settle in. Panic without reason, meaning, or rationality. 51 days had gone by without me knowing it! I lay on the floor, frozen, as my wife walked into the dark kitchen, shocked by the scene of my trembling weeping body.
"Corey, what's wrong?" she asked as she clutched me. For a while I couldn't say anything, only babble nonsense consonants.
"My memory is gone," I finally got out to her.
She looked doubtful, but finally understood, and asked, "How long?"
I told her, "I can't remember anything past middle August."
"Well, we have to get you to the hospital," she insisted.
I strongly declined, "They'll think I'm crazy. I haven't even suffered any trauma, there's no physical reason this could happen," I told her.
She said, "We can't be sure, what if there is something wrong? We have to get you to the hospital. I'll call the office for you." I went upstairs and dressed myself as she explained to my managers the situation. I heard the muffled speech as she talked on the phone. I woke the kids before leaving and told them I was going to the hospital, but I would be fine. An hour later, after basic tests and diagnosis they decided to send me to another clinic to do better testing. I, however, decided to go to lunch beforehand. There is a deli down the street where two short people run it, and I remember how good the potato salad was. I was walking down a street, and walking towards me was someone who looked exactly like me. As we walked closer and closer, our eyes locked and our paced slowed until we were a few paces apart from each other. I was extremely curious as to who this man was, and I'm sure he was shocked, telling from the look upon his face. We extended our hands to shake almost simultaneously and I felt that his grip was exactly like mine.
"Corey Adams," I introduced myself.
"Harry Jones," he said. "Corey, I believe I have your memories."
I gave him a perplexed look and we walked the rest of the way to the deli. I think we completely understood what was going to happen, as we ordered the same sandwich and sat down near the back corner in a booth. I can't remember what exactly happened, but after small talk, the majority of our conversation circled around the 51 missing days. He told me everything in chronological order, and I asked him small details here and there. As our conversation continued, I found that I was remembering what happened during my missing time. Four hours later, of him talking with little breaks, I could finally connect the dots in my memory.
"I can't remember anything else," he said.
"That's ok, because I finally do," I said.
I would assume that after giving me back my memories, he doesn't remember anything. The doctors were relieved to find that my memory had come back, but they would never believe what really happened.
I got a call from him a few days later, however.
"Corey?" said a familiar voice on the phone.
"Yes, this is him," I knew who it was. "How did you know my number?"
"It's the same as mine, but the four and the five are flipped," he said in a smug tone. "Would you like to go to the deli again sometime?"
"Sure," I said, "That would be fine." I grabbed my coat and headed out the door, hearing the same rustle from the phone.

Description
Harry
It was the morning of October 12 that things began to change. I woke up that morning like any other. I had only toast and jelly for breakfast before my two kids woke up. I was sitting at the table reading the newspaper, and I heard the toaster rattle. Grabbing my plate I walk towards the counter and then I was putting it in the sink, sprinkled in crumbs. I had eaten my toast without realizing it. The kitchen became blurred and gray as my children ate breakfast and prepared for school. The office building appeared before me as I drove up to it in my car. Had most of the morning just disappeared before me? My memory held nothing as I tried to call it to the morning. What about me saying goodbye to my family before I left? Had that happened? I couldn't remember. The rest of the day went by like that, not really remembering anything, but acting completely rational nonetheless. I couldn't remember what I had for lunch or what time I left the office. How had my memory failed me like this? I went to bed, with no emotion that I can remember, and hoped that a little rest would help me. I awoke the next morning to the same thing. The day got blurrier and blurrier until…
"How are you feeling Mr. Jones?" I was sitting in the hospital with a doctor standing above me. It felt like there was a giant stone in my stomach, my face felt bristly, and the light blasted my eyes when I looked at it.
"Its Adams, not Jones," I muttered.
He apparently didn't hear me or chose not to hear me, because the doctor then asked me, "would you like to see your wife?"
Clearing my throat, I say louder this time, "yes". The woman who walked in my room was not my wife. Things began to get really weird for me then. "You're not my wife," I croaked out.
"Of course I'm your wife, Harry," she replied, and leaned over and hugged me. "Don't you remember?" Yes, of course I remember. I thought back, and saw that my life was not this, I was Corey Adams, not Harry Jones, and my wife was not this woman. Either this was some cruel joke or something really was wrong here. But what exactly was wrong here? Maybe they had the wrong guy here? But if I was in the hospital my real family would be here and they would know who I am. I didn't know of any twin I had. What about what had happened recently? My memory had been going fuzzy lately, but I wasn't old enough to have Alzheimer's. I had never had this problem in my life either, no sort of blackouts. But it felt like an early childhood memory, the type you know is there but can't completely fill in.
"What is really going on here?" I asked, completely lost.
"You've been in a coma for the past 51 days, Mr. Jones." A coma, I thought to myself, but I've lived another life for 39 years. And I supposedly have this life too? I slowly came to realize the truth, now that the doctor told me, that before being Corey Adams, I was in fact, Harry Jones. And now that I have woken up from this coma, I am him once again. My ID confirmed it well enough.
"We're going to keep you here a while longer Mr. Jones," said the doctor.
"Well, how long?" I asked him.
The doctor replied, "We'll have to get you strong enough to actually walk out of here, maybe another week." Very well, I thought, after this my life can hopefully return to normal. They brought me a meal, the type you get from a hospital, and as I slowly ate, I found that the memories I had during that coma were not going away. And they were not complete life memories; they felt like a few months of memories with a slight glimpse of a history. After eating my meal, a nurse directed me through a series of simple exercises to get me back on my feet. What would become of these memories? They weren't necessarily real, and if they were real, they were not my own. I would have to accept that these memories would stay with me and served no real purpose. I had bigger concerns anyways, like getting back to working. I was released eight days later and couldn't feel better.
Corey
October 13, I woke up to an unusually chilly house, and an unusual gap in my memory. August 21 had passed without warning, and no memories existed in between. As I looked away from the calendar, panic started to settle in. Panic without reason, meaning, or rationality. 51 days had gone by without me knowing it! I lay on the floor, frozen, as my wife walked into the dark kitchen, shocked by the scene of my trembling weeping body.
"Corey, what's wrong?" she asked as she clutched me. For a while I couldn't say anything, only babble nonsense consonants.
"My memory is gone," I finally got out to her.
She looked doubtful, but finally understood, and asked, "How long?"
I told her, "I can't remember anything past middle August."
"Well, we have to get you to the hospital," she insisted.
I strongly declined, "They'll think I'm crazy. I haven't even suffered any trauma, there's no physical reason this could happen," I told her.
She said, "We can't be sure, what if there is something wrong? We have to get you to the hospital. I'll call the office for you." I went upstairs and dressed myself as she explained to my managers the situation. I heard the muffled speech as she talked on the phone. I woke the kids before leaving and told them I was going to the hospital, but I would be fine. An hour later, after basic tests and diagnosis they decided to send me to another clinic to do better testing. I, however, decided to go to lunch beforehand. There is a deli down the street where two short people run it, and I remember how good the potato salad was. I was walking down a street, and walking towards me was someone who looked exactly like me. As we walked closer and closer, our eyes locked and our paced slowed until we were a few paces apart from each other. I was extremely curious as to who this man was, and I'm sure he was shocked, telling from the look upon his face. We extended our hands to shake almost simultaneously and I felt that his grip was exactly like mine.
"Corey Adams," I introduced myself.
"Harry Jones," he said. "Corey, I believe I have your memories."
I gave him a perplexed look and we walked the rest of the way to the deli. I think we completely understood what was going to happen, as we ordered the same sandwich and sat down near the back corner in a booth. I can't remember what exactly happened, but after small talk, the majority of our conversation circled around the 51 missing days. He told me everything in chronological order, and I asked him small details here and there. As our conversation continued, I found that I was remembering what happened during my missing time. Four hours later, of him talking with little breaks, I could finally connect the dots in my memory.
"I can't remember anything else," he said.
"That's ok, because I finally do," I said.
I would assume that after giving me back my memories, he doesn't remember anything. The doctors were relieved to find that my memory had come back, but they would never believe what really happened.
I got a call from him a few days later, however.
"Corey?" said a familiar voice on the phone.
"Yes, this is him," I knew who it was. "How did you know my number?"
"It's the same as mine, but the four and the five are flipped," he said in a smug tone. "Would you like to go to the deli again sometime?"
"Sure," I said, "That would be fine." I grabbed my coat and headed out the door, hearing the same rustle from the phone.