Alright. I’ve posted this before, but i’ve added and improved. If there’s anything I need to change or fix or anything, tell me.

(first paragraph in italics. When you get to "one step, two steps, etc, it’s supposed to be in italics also)
What would you do if you woke up in a hospital and weren’t able to remember anything? Would you go out in search to know what happened? Or would you start out with a new life? The story of Emma Johnson will wrap you up on an emotional roller coaster from sadness to happiness to love.

The odor of the hospital made me nauseated and the food that they fed me tasted artificial. As I wondered how I got here, a stinging pain shot up the side of my head. I didn’t know where I was, or what I was doing here, but I guess that’s the worst part of losing your memory. The good part? Starting a new life.
As I sat in bed on a wintry night, the television across from my bed was on a Soap Opera. I wasn’t watching it, of course. Instead, I was looking out the frosted window to the darkened world outside of this box room. I heard the door to my room creak open. A woman who looked to be over thirty was dressed in light blue scrubs with a plate of food in her hands. She walked over and put the food on a silver tray, then laid the food in front of me.
“Here you are, Emma,” she said with sympathy in her voice. I didn’t reply to her, hoping that she had given this food to the wrong person. As she left, her shoes made a shrilling sound from the newly mopped and polished floor. I looked down at the disgusting food that consisted of a small cup of peaches, a medium sized plate of spaghetti, half of a piece of garlic bread and a petite sized milk carton. I suppressed a sigh as I picked up the small plastic fork and twisted the noodles around. I lifted it to my mouth, wondering if I should eat it. After seconds that turned into minutes, I dropped the fork and moved the tray closer to my feet. I felt tired, yet I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. The nurses said I had insomnia. I turned my head, looking out yet again to the darkened world before me.

Days passed. Only one person came to see me, and that woman was supposedly my mother. The woman had black hair and blue eyes, she had a petite figure and she was 5’6”. The woman told the nurses that she would like to take me home when I was better. I didn’t mind. If I could get out of this place, I would gladly go. After minutes of the doctor and the woman talking, they came back into the room, only for the doctor to tell me I am to be released. I didn’t know what he meant by that, so I stayed in my bed. The doctor reassured the woman that I had lost my memory in the accident. What accident? I thought to myself. The doctor handed the woman two pill bottles and helped me up. It would be the first time I was able to get out of the bed. Pain shot up my head again, a throbbing pain.
The doctor came over to help me up. His hands were firmly on my waist. He fixed my gown for me as a nurse came in. A pair of bloody clothes were in her hands that she handed the woman. I was handed a walker to help me move. After a few hours of helping me walk, the woman and doctor led me to the front doors.
“Well, Emma, are you ready?” the doctor asked. I didn’t reply. I haven’t talked in over a month. The woman looked like she was about to cry. I looked outside. The white snow that mounded the trees and covered the ground glimmered under the lights. I took my first steps out of the protection of the doctor and the woman. I gripped the walker, afraid of my muscles giving out. The motion detected doors moved when I came close. I felt the cold snow under my bare feet as I walked onto it. One step, two steps, three steps, four steps. I needed to take it slow at first. The more steps I took, the more I was able to walk. I wanted to drop the walker and go on my own.