The plastic foam mattress was wet with his sweat and the thin bobbled blanket covering him only served to remind him how cold he was.

His jumbled mind was still trying to make sense of his surroundings… The confusion he was feeling only heightened his loss. The loss of his memory, the loss of his identity and the total loss felt at the devastation of his broken self.


He was having a flashback of himself has a small boy, laughing while being chased, he was dressed up as a Native American Indian; only because it was easy to make a head-dress and arrows out of the leaves of a coconut tree and the spine on which the leaves hung. Such ingenuity at an early age never crossed his mind as his imagination was all it took to transcend to the plains of the prairies in the hot Jamaican sun.

But why would his mind take him so far away from this present moment?

Why indeed, it was time to utilise his survival mechanism,  his imagination.