SandBoxed Paradise...or is it a Prison

CHAPTER THREE

After tending my wound, I relaxed on the beach. My feet floated in the water while my head and shoulders remained rooted in the sand. It was time to take a day off.

What does it matter? Not like I have anyone to answer to.

Despite my nonchalant, sarcastic thoughts, I recognized the nightmares were getting worse. It was also becoming difficult to ignore my growing boredom.

I am missing something.

That thought spun my mind like a merry-go-round. Not knowing how I had spent my time before arriving here, what was there to miss?

The throbbing inside my head was relentless. As I reached to make sure the bleeding had stopped, my eyes rested on the inner side of my left wrist. It was the only clue I had, and yet it meant nothing to me. Tattooed onto my skin was 'JD291183.'

What does that mean?

Many a day I asked that question. I had come up with several wild and crazy notions, but only one fantasy persisted: It was a prison tattoo. I had done something so awful I blocked out all personal memories and given myself amnesia. Maybe I was still a prisoner, and this island was not a lost paradise, but something more. Either way, it felt like a prison.

I watched the sun move across the sky as my thoughts spun out of control. It was the slowest day I remembered and yet it was almost done. The fish would soon begin their dance and I would face another night of terror; dreams that repeatedly raped my soul and now threatened me with physical harm.

"Ouch! What the ...?"

Something was brushing against my body, keeping in time with the slow, mesmerizing wash of the tide. Many small things had washed up on the island beaches, but never something like this fully intact wooden crate.

In truth, I didn't care what was inside the floating box. It was different, a distraction from the current normal. I pulled the crate onto the sand and quickly gathered my hand-crafted tools. Fifteen minutes later I was still struggling with the unrelenting slats.

Dammit!

The harder it was to open, the more I wanted to see inside. As a last resort, I rolled it over. Perhaps I would have more success with the soaked bottom. To my great surprise, stenciled on the wet wood and standing out like a bright shining beacon was 'JD291183,' the exact sequence burned into my wrist. Intrigue grew into adrenaline as I pounded my sharp stone into a crack and pried off the first board.

Did these items belong to me?

Drenched in sweat, I threw the broken board to the ground and attacked the crate like a starving person fighting a coconut. I finally pulled out the first treasure as the sun began to fall in the sky.

I had no memories of opening gifts; but, the idea of unwrapping this item, concealed in cloth and held together by a bow, filled me with glee I must have experienced as a child. Relishing the moment, I sat with my first present and slowly pulled the faded string. I peeked under the layers of fabric to find a dirty hand mirror with a crack running jaggedly across the center.

Surprised, I let it sit in my lap for many moments. This was certainly unnerving. Except for my blurred, watery reflection, this would be the first time seeing my face.

Will seeing my reflection bring back any memories? And if it does, do I really want to know?

Finding the courage and gumption as the fish started to dance in the bay, I wrapped my fingers around the handle and gazed upon myself. The eyes that stared back belonged to a stranger. No matter which angle I chose, there was not an ounce of recognition. Just some woman with blue eyes and a heart-shaped face framed by long dark hair, curly tendrils blowing freely in the breeze. Tucking the hair behind small ears exposed one was slightly higher than the other. Full lips and rosy cheeks accented dark skin, evidence of many days in the sun. All topped off by a huge knot and colorful bruise on the tall forehead.

What do you think? Late twenties? Early thirties?

I stared at myself for a long time and found no answers, but as I moved to put the mirror down and continue my rummage, something odd happened. For just an instant, my mirror image distorted as years and color faded away; and, even more startling... the reflection blinked when I didn't.