He blinked his eyes twice, three times. His memory still eluded him and he was getting agitated every breathing second he spent in the nice stranger’s home. Why couldn’t he remember his name, a piece of crucial identity to who he was? Why couldn’t he recall any events from his past life?
“Please,” he pleadingly gazed up at the white ceiling. “Please, if you’re up there, and you can hear me, please help me remember the man that I am.”
© La Petit Muse 2016
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For Word-High July