He remembers the coarse feel of the dried grass as it crunched under his bare feet. The field was vast and he could see nothing in the distance except for a vast expanse of pale brown. He remembers nothing of before. He tries to grasp the name that men used to call him but every time he gets close to the thought it flits away like some sort of demonic pixie playing tricks on him. He looks down and sees that he is a thin man wearing a stained plain white tee and faded denim jeans. He continues walking for a time before he finds his voice and screams out to the empty expanse for someone, anyone, to help him. No one responds but that does little to deter his voice as he screams louder and louder, until finally his voice is gone and the only sound that escapes him resembles that of a death rattle. He collapses to the earth and lays down in the rough field, slowly yet most assuredly, sleep finds him and sends him on his way once more.
Water splashes him in the face and snaps him rudely out of sleep and into a sitting position. He hears the screams from the men on the deck around him, muted by the howling winds and crashing waves. A man with the fear of God in his eyes shouts at him to get up and help, otherwise they are all going down to Poseidon’s home and not a one of them will survive. He stands and looks around frantically, for though he knows he stands on a boat he has no clue as to what he can possibly do to help. He looks off to port and see’s a wave that is stretching so high that it blocks out the horizon. He watches as it collapses over him and all he sees is black. He can feel hands clutching his ankles and trying to pull themselves up his legs. He kicks the hands loose and swings at the water just praying that he is headed up rather than down. Just as his lungs have passed the point of burning and are ready to explode his head breaks the surface.
All is calm and the sun is lowering itself behind the western horizon. He finds himself still in a vast expanse of water, he can’t taste salt on his lips so he knows it must be fresh. He can’t begin to comprehend what he is doing here or how he even came to find himself naked and swimming here. He picks east as his direction and swims away from the sun for a time, until his limbs are finally so weary that they begin to feel like water themselves. He looks back behind him and sees that the sun has moved only slightly, even though he felt that he must have been swimming for more than two hours. He kicks his legs up and settles back against the water, letting it slowly rock him while he can regain use of his weary muscles. He feels it as an inkling at first but very soon sleep is pulling him down into it’s depths. He fights because he knows if he rests than surely he will drown but something about the warm sun slung low in the western sky becomes hypnotic and he lets go of consciousness and allows sleep to pull him into yet another great unknown.