BLANK SLATE- Chapter 1


I understood this place- this abyss, this overwhelming blackness that seemed somehow familiar, almost comforting. Like the time I was just a kid wading in a bayou in Louisiana and stepped into a gator hole- that feeling of being dragged down into the warm sucking Delta mud that ended as my father jumped in and dragged me back to the surface. 
I knew none of this- this blackness was complete and formless with no shape or hard edges to grab hold of.  Coming back is the hard part; random flashes as brain synapses begin to fire. The smell permeated my brain first; a raw mix of long dead fish, stale beer, and other unspeakable ingredients mixed into a putrid miasma of decay.
Confusion, too many unanswered questions that I couldn’t even bring to thought.  Then the pain began to penetrate the depths of my unconsciousness like jabbing an ice pick into a block of ice- I welcomed it, embraced it, a sure sign that I wasn’t dead from whatever the hell had just happened.
I started the slow self-inventory of what parts of my body were broken or damaged. The focus helped me fight through the confusion and narrowed the pain to a searing intensity as I slowly began to move one joint at a time. The news wasn’t all bad- the grated meat that resulted from my left cheekbone bouncing off the pavement hurt worse than the pinkie finger pointing in a direction that God had never intended.
I finally worked up the energy to crack open the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut. Not good- my hair was matted in a puddle of drying blood. A green iguana as long as my arm was slowly licking at the tastier bits of the mixed blood and garbage in the alley. His eyes slowly blinked as his reptile brain tried to determine if I was actually edible or if he had to wait until I stopped moving before dining.
I rolled over to my back and slowly struggled to a sitting position. Another bad idea- the wave of pain rolled over me like a tsunami and it was a question of whether I would pass out or puke from the pain. Within a couple of minutes, the wave of nausea passed and I actually was able to shift my attention to my surroundings.
Not enough information- just another non-descript alley with the usual collection of rusted dumpsters, garbage, and the occasional used condom scattered like wilted dead jellyfish on the beach at high tide. Palm trees overhanging the alley burdened with their dead fronds contributing to the general air of air of decay and neglect.
I was struggling to piece it all together when the cop showed up.
“Hey buddy, you OK?” he asked, while trying to figure out what he was dealing with. He was pretty sure that the blood covering me meant I had been the victim of some crime, but still hedged his bets by keeping one hand firmly clasped on the butt of his Taser.
“Not sure, hurts too damn much for me to be dead,” I said while trying to cradle my head between my knees.
“I’ll get an ambulance on the way,” the cop said as he keyed the radio mike clipped to his lapel. “You just hang in there, they’ll be here in a minute. Got some ID? I’ll call your relatives and have them meet you at the hospital.”
I reached for my wallet and came up with nothing but air. I started to explain that to the cop, but the effort was too much. My last thought as I fell over sideways into unconsciousness was I didn’t have the slightest idea who I was.
 

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