That moment I woke up I felt like I'd been hit with a car, a big heavy bastard of a car that I didn't see coming but it felt like it was definitely aiming for me.  I didn't know where, when or who I was, but I felt like I had a sense of purpose.  I felt like something had worked, what that something was I don't know and unless I got out of here, I wasn't going to find out any time soon.

A person lays in what looks to be a hospital bed, the body in the bed suddenly groans and moves slowly pushing himself upright, their face obscured in the shadows of the poorly lit room but even in the bad light it is now obvious that this is a man of some age based on their grey beard. The man's head turns both right and left scanning the room, looking for something familiar or at least something that would help them make sense of their surroundings.  He leans to the edge of the bed, noticing a medical chart hanging at the foot of the bed.

Man: Hopefully this will help explain things.

He shakes his head slightly hoping to clear the cobwebs as he grasps the chart and brings it closer for inspection.

Man: I'd have thought there'd be some indication of the date here, but that doesn't seem to be the case. This says TBHC, The Brooklyn Hospital Center. So at least I now know where I am, maybe it'd be more useful to know who am I?

He quickly flicks through the paperwork, struggling to see any real information on the pages in this dimly lit room which still conceals the majority of the man's facial features.  After a few moments more, the man nervously taps the clipboard with his right index finger and sighs.

Man: Why would they just put an acronym for my name? Maybe they don't really know who I am?  I think I need to do some investigating.

He stands and turns placing the clipboard with it's pages folded over back on the bed, quite prominently written in red pen on the exposed page are the letters WMD followed by a question mark.  The man looks down at himself taking note of his attire and pats his torso and legs with his hands, searching in the pockets of the navy coloured all-in-one boiler suit like clothing he is wearing.

Man: Well at least they haven't put me in a hospital gown yet, I think it's time to leave.

The man heads towards the doorway, the hallway lights not bright enough to illuminate the smaller details of his face leaving the greying beard and head hair as the only visible distinguishing features they have as he leaves the hospital room.

I left that Brooklyn hospital knowing I had a purpose, but unfortunately it seems like whatever got me here has made things difficult to remember, answers to simple questions like how, why or when were beyond my reach.  I sometimes get little flashes of information, distant or distorted memories, but even in this confused state I knew that leaving that hospital was the only way forward.  Luckily thanks to the information I found at the hospital there was one question I knew the answer to. 

What is my name? 

Of course the answer was simple, logical and obvious.

My name is Wondrous Mental Dragon.

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