Dear journal,

Writing is hard. Writing beginnings, even more so. But well, here we go. 

I don't really know what my name is, but people have decided to call me Wakey. Today is the  second day of summer in the year 5546 AR, and it is the start of my journal. On that red and blue book, I'm both going to tell my story, and to note whatever I learn about that alien world I now live in.

The Bookbirth

My first memories are very vague. To me, it seems like I just started "feeling" at some point, which implies that I wasn't before. Or, at least, looking back, I can remember thoughts and feeling up until one point, before which everything is dark. In any case, I begun in a dark place, on a dark floor. I felt compelled to move toward one direction, and I did. I don't exactly know how long I walked: I think I was in a series of unlit corridors. At some point, I started to panic a bit, fearing I'd never be out of there. Thankfully, I finally started to see light in one direction. the corridor was taking a turn, and leading to a lit room. I rushed in... and tripped, hitting my head against a wooden beam

When I sat back up, three worried faces were surrounding me: two humans, and one well-dressed parrot that was tilting its head. To my surprise, the bird spoke first.

– Oï ! you okay there? Gotta say, you got us scared!
Since noone seemed surprised by the parrot talking - or wearing clothing - I just answered something in the likes of "Gnnwhere am I?" while rubbing my head. 
As a discussion ensued, it quickly appeared that I was more than a little lost. At first, we thought I had hit my head so hard that it had damaged my memory. I didn't know my name, and I couldn't recognize any of the locations they had given me: the "Sociology grotto", the "Great Library", "Merinos"... None of this ringed a bell.

They took me to sit on a comfortable couch, next to another parrot. It had a similar set of feathers as the first one I met. However, it was dressed completely differently. Also, its beak was wearing a very complex makeup: intricate patterns of red, purple and black spirals. Olev, one of the persons who found me, presented us:

– This is Silter, our tribe's doctor. Silter, we found that girl right at the entrance of the south corridor. Or rather, she ran from the dark, right into us. She hit her head, and now she seems pretty confused.
Once again, the bird answered:

– My! A lone human, this deep in the library? That's unusual. And look at that clothing! Never seen that before. Where are you from, friend?

Olev looked at me in a way that suggested I should answer, so I did.

– I don't know. I just sort of remember waking up standing in the middle of a corridor, with no idea how I ended up there. I just started to look for some light, and I tripped when I arrived. Why is a bird a doctor?
The two looked at me in an air of shock, and I quickly felt very embarassed. I quickly tried to explain myself:

– Not that I have an issue with it! I mean, you are very elegant, and you probably know a lot of things! But, hem... I have to say... I don't remember birds could talk! I finally spurted.
The look of shock turned into utter disbelief.

– You don't remember of Perrots? Olev asked.

– Or Condors? Silter added.

– Weeeeell.. I sort of recall some birds called parrots, and some birds called condors. But they can't really talk, I think?

– And yet, you aren't shocked by hairless monkeys walking around and talking, aren't you, the Perrot said disdainfully.

To say I felt embarassed would be an understatement. Imagine someone suddenly showing up in front of you and question  whether you are an actual person! Not to mention, as I'm slowly realizing now, relations between human and non-human people in this world are tense, to say the least. In any case, I profoundly apologized, as best as I could.

Olev frowned, and said:

– Well, I did hear about bird species in the south that look similar to Perrots but are incapable of coherent speech. They are called "false Perrots", though, and not whatever it is you said. Hey, Silter, there's something real weird with that girl. How would she know of false perrots, or how she end up entering the room, but have no idea of what happened to her earlier than that? And how can she not know anything else?

Silter tilted their head, their pupils dilated and retracted quickly.

– I am... not sure. This doesn't seem like a simple amnesia. Seems to to me that if nything affected memories, girl, it was not hitting your head.

I'm going to spare you the rest of that whole discussion. Olev and Silter argued a bit back and forth about how weird my amnesia seems to be. According to Silter, things like that sometimes happen in that Great Library we're in. It seems to be quite the structure.

After a bit of a discussion, the group agreed to take care of me for a while, as they study my case and I gather my memories. Olev took me on a tour to visit that Social grotto, and provide me with a room. Silter gave me that journal: apparently, people in the Library consider writing important when someone is mentally suffering, or dealing with amnesia. I guess that even if writing can't solve the issue, it makes good testimonies.

I feel like I should sum up what I know and what I don't, regularly. It can only help.

What I do know:

• I am in a world called the Cylinder.
• Specifically in a city called Merinos, in the depths of something called the Great Library .
• A group of scientists called the Deep Sociology Tribe have decided to take me in.
• Apparently, I can write.
• Some birds are people.

What I don't know:

• Almost everything else.
• What is outside of that Library.
• Whether that Cylinder name is literal.
• What Who I am exactly.
• What just happened to me.