As the moment of terror passed, Michael stared blankly up. As the formaldehyde left him, so did all sense of deep emotion. His mind felt... blank? No, white, maybe. As if nothing were there. Another woman came into view. He knew her, but didn't. It was a flat, useless memory, devoid of emotion or relevance. His lips went to speak. “Wife?” was the only word that came to mind.
“Yes, Michael. It is I, Margaret. You remember?”
His eyes looked at her blankly, “No, I don't.”
He levered himself up on one elbow. The casket had been removed from the ground and dirt had been thrown about. The double-wide headstone read 'Michael ~ Morgan.' The word Morgan brought a clearly defined image to mind, but little else. He looked at his clothes. His suit was custom-made. His shirt had a monogram on the sleeve and cufflinks. A square of silk was tucked into his sleeve with a crest and a five pointed crown embroidered on a corner. That, too, brought a construct to mind, but no detail.
There were more people around, mostly female. All familiar in a distant, factoidal sort of way. They lifted him to his feet. He couldn't remember who he was, although he did remember what his name was. “I am Michael,” he said stiffly.
“His mind is gone!”
“Give it time. He just came back to life.”
“Daddy?”
The word daddy rolled around in his head. It should be significant, but it just seemed like another word. Why was it important?
He turned back to the headstone. He ran his fingers over the name Morgan. He remembered a man standing at the top of a flight of stairs, smiling. But that was all.
He looked at the assorted familiar strangers and asked, “Who is this?”
The woman he recognized as his mother said, “No one important.”
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