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THE BURNING OF GREY



It was morning in the small town of Sagebrook, Connecticut.
A clean, safe, charming, rural community with a two-lane paved road that circled around the forest trees,
local school, church, and neighborhood bar in one loop.

Sagebrook was a magnet for retirees, hermits, or even forgotten souls. One such soul was Reid Davis.
His place of residence was a small white wooden house with two shuttered windows looking out to the
street. The inside of the home was restful and darkened by the wood slats on the panes.
Reid preferred it night even in the daytime, and when the sun tussled to break through the slats, he'd flick on
the soft light of the desk lamp. Then, he'd sit in the shadows and watch the golden glow reflect softly off the
wall making vague, abstract figures. It was all his mind could handle at times - zero information to process
in the quiet coolness of the room. It was peaceful.


THE RACE TO SOLVE A MYSTERY

"How it affected what? My mind? What do you mean by it? I might not remember things but I do know this,
I was in a car accident not that long ago but in some mysterious way and oddly enough, I wasn't physically injured.
No scars or signs of trauma on me anywhere. Unusual, wouldn't you say?" Reid asked with a piercing stare.

The doctor rubbed the fingers of his hand sideways over his forehead.
"Yes, I can see how that might seem strange to you but hold on, let me read something to you."
Doctor Keenan pushed his glasses further up his nose and leaned over the file, reading it carefully as if dissecting
an insect. "Yes, here it is," he said, and took out a paper from the file and placed it in front of Reid. Then he
interlaced his fingers and leaned back on his chair. "Go ahead"…he nudged…"read it."

Reid's eyes set on the doctor momentarily, then he dropped them to the paper in front of him and picked it up.
He read the top section to himself. Oleg laboratories: Retrograde amnesia in patients with hippocampal,
medial temporal, temporal lobe, or frontal pathology. His eyes scanned the graphs with blue and red cylinders,
measuring different degrees of recall performance and scores.


THE MANY QUESTIONS

"What does this all mean?" he asked.
"Well…" began Dr. Keenan. The word sounded like a yawn, and he pressed his back to the chair. "It all means a lot
…and very little. What you have is called Retrograde Amnesia. It commonly results from damage to the brain regions
most closely associated with episodic or declarative memory. He paused, then added, "Now, that's what we do know.
What we don't know is the extent of the damage."

"The damage? Reid's voice was a mix of alarmed and frustrated, and his mouth slightly clenched.
"That doesn't have a really good sound to it, does it? "Look, all I know is one day, I woke up and everything is gone!
My entire life has been erased like someone took an eraser and decided to wipe out MY section of the story!
And what about the lack of scars from the collision? Why don't I have any scars on my head?"
Reid stood up agitated. "Tell me, doc. What did I do for a living? Am I single, married, divorced…kids? He suddenly paused,
dropped his voice low, and stared into space, "I keep having this dream…" he mumbled.



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THE BURNING OF GREY