MY NAME IS STEVE
Don't ask me what I'm doing here, because I don't know. One day, I woke up in the middle of a forest, covered in snow, devoid of all memory and sense of identity. Why? I have no clue. It almost doesn't matter.
I spent the first couple of hours calling for help, wandering around, hoping I'd find someone nearby. After a while, I came to the reluctant conclusion that I was well and truly isolated: no sound of human voices, no hum of tires on distant roadways; nothing but the trill of far off birds and rustling branches in the wind. There might have been a cow nearby from all the mooing, but I couldn't find it.
I might not have known who I am, or why I woke up in this snowy forest, but that didn't mean I was going to sit down and let depression take me along with the wolves. I needed a plan of action, needed to find a way to survive! But first, a man needs to know himself before he can trust himself, and because my old name was lost to my departed memory, I have decided to call myself Steve.
It's a good name.