2
Mother.
The word awoke him and he began to cough, deep retching spasms that raised a thin, sticky, salty fluid.
I’m wet, he thought after he stopped coughing.
More than just wet. Soaked.
Where was he? Everything was black. Not the slightest trace of light. He felt panic begin to nibble at him.
Was he blind?
Mother.
The word calmed him. He felt around him. He lay on a hard floor, concrete or stone, in a puddle of some sort of thin, sticky goo. He tried to push himself up but his arms felt like rubber. Too weak.
And then he realized that not only did he not know where he was, he didn’t know who he was. He had a name, he had to have a name, everybody had a name.
Panic threatened again.
Mother.
Again the word calmed him. He relaxed, closed his eyes, and the name came to him.
Darryl. That was his name. Darryl. But who was Darryl?
If he could see himself, maybe he’d know. And when he knew, maybe he could remember who his mother was, and then he could go and find her, because he needed to find his mother.
Light . . . he needed light.
He tried to speak but that caused another coughing fit. When it passed he found his voice.
“Give me some light!”