It was a pleasant spring day in the idyllic little cul-de-sac. The sweet aroma of spring's first flowers wafted in through the window, buoyed by a gentle breeze. The boy lay there supine and as motionless as he had been for the last six years. Suddenly his eyes begin to twitch, faster and faster, darting back and forth under the protective sheath of his eyelids. They say the eyes are a window into the soul; if this is true then this boy's soul was caught in a maelstrom. Then, as if to mimic the window, his eyes burst open as he sat bolt upright gasping for air!

"Ugh, my head" the boy moaned to no one in particular. "Wha' happen'" he mumbled as he reached his hand up to feel his forehead. But before his hand finished its motion he noticed something quite peculiar. "That's not my hand!" he thought. His mind racing he checked the other hand, "This isn't my hand either!" He began to hyperventilate, not knowing what strange fate had besieged him. He though for a moment and tried to remember the last time he had seen his hands, but drew a blank. "What's happening to me?" he opined, but no one answered. He looked down to find he no longer recognized his torso either. Before he had time to erupt into another panic attack, he noticed a mirror across the room.

He moved to the edge of the bed and made to get up. As he stood he found his legs could not support him as he fell back onto the bed. "My legs feel like jelly" he stated, only it was not his voice that escaped his mouth, but another, much deeper voice. After a few tries he managed to stand, albeit very wobbly. Little did he know the cause of his non-responsive muscles was due to atrophication. He inched forward, careful to keep what semblance of balance he had. After a few agonizing seconds he arrived at the mirror. He hesitated, not sure as to what he would find in the looking glass. When he had gathered his courage he dared to take a glance. Once again he was a greeted by an unfamiliar sight. He did not see himself in the mirror, but a young adult. But then he saw it, the blond hair, the bony nose, the scar across the shoulder; all distinguishing marks of one Jake Fisher. "No it can't be, I don't look like this' he blurted out. Like before, the voice that spoke his words was unfamiliar, it seemed to taunt him with its deepness. As he questioned why he looked so different, he finally noticed the room he was in was familiar. This was where his brother had stayed when they vacationed in the summer. "How did I end up here" he wondered. Then, upon closer inspection he realized there was something amiss about the room. It no longer bore the dinosaur decorations his brother so cherished. He turned toward the bed and saw yet another shocking decoration. "What are heart monitors and medical equipment doing here" was his first thought immediately followed by "why do I keep feeling a tugging sensation in my arm?"

In his confusion, he hadn't noticed he had been hooked up to the machines and had simply been stretching their limits. Carefully he removed the IV and heart monitor patches. Immediately after detaching himself from the monitor it began to beep. "Oh crud, that's so loud" he bellowed. In his haste to turn it off he stumbled, barely regaining his balance. Finally he managed to find a button that made the machine acquiesce. "Thank God" he sighed, sitting back down on the bed.

Looking up he saw a calendar hanging on the wall, "I wonder what day it is." In a series of great shocks this was clearly the worst, the calendar read February 27th 2009! "Tomorrows my birthday? How can this be, where did all this time go," but before he had a chance to try and answer his question, he heard an obstreperous thumping sound coming from the hallway.

Following the sound, he exited the room and entered the hallway. Still swaying from side to side, he leaned against the wall for extra support. Despite the fog covering part of his mind, the layout of the house was imbedded in his head. He approached the garage, which appeared to be the epicenter of the noise. Peering through the garage door window, the sight of a motley band of youths clarified who was making the noise.

Dressed in wild colors and ripped and faded jeans, the teenagers began to play another "song." "Kina, the bass pedal is not an accelerator, you have to keep hitting it. And Josiah there are more notes on the fret board than just low e." The voice ignited something in his brain. It was familiar, but different, as if he were listening through a very poor phone connection. "Wait a minute I know that voice!" he exclaimed as he tried to open the door, but alas to no avail. He had managed the strength to walk but opening a door seemed an insurmountable task at this point. Nevertheless his attempt alerted the garage dwellers to the knowledge that someone was watching them. "Mom is that you?" the eerily familiar voice asked from behind the door. Jake tried to reply, but found even that exerted too much energy. So, helpless, he resigned to wait for the questioner to open the door. Moving apprehensively, the other boy opened the door slowly. He walked through holding a drumstick in each hand, ready to stab and jab at a moments notice. What awaited him on the other side of the door was more alarming than a masked man with a machete.

"Jake is that you?" the boy asked, even though he knew better than his brother what he looked like now. "It's me, at least, I think. What's going on and why do you look so much taller?" he interrogated. "I have got to call mom she's going to be thrilled!" Jake's brother spouted, paying no attention to his brother's inquiries. "First, what is going on? Why do the calendars say its 2009 and why do we both look different?" he pleaded. "You mean you don't remember? Man in a coma, finally comes out and hes got amnesia. What are the odds" He remarked sarcastically. "Please Hunter, just tell me what's happening" Jake begged. "Sit down, I'll call mom and then try to explain it as best I can" Hunter replied.