(500 words) One warm May afternoon, I was heading home from the hospital after an MRI scan - I’d suffered amnesia following an accident and could barely remember who I was. Passing St. Luke’s Convent, I took a shortcut through the adjoining park, passing along a walkway bounded by burgeoning shrubs to a fountain, sparkling amongst pink rose bushes. A statue of Pan stood nearby. I enjoyed the gentle sound of water. Then, something black loomed, I looked up and saw two nuns. Their countenances were grim and masculine.