Reliving Memories

    A heavy fog blanketed the streets of Cleveland, hiding away any signs of danger from the eye of the Sun. Despite the haze, Chaz recognized many of the blocks he had walked through, as he had been in these areas many a time before. Although, He felt that something was off about the place: While it matched his memory of city block brick to brick, there was clearly something wrong with the place. Perhaps it was simply paranoia, but he doubted it. As he wandered the block, he tried to find some odd detail, some missing piece that told him for sure that his gut was correct. One thing he noted quickly was how dead the wind was: Not even a slight breeze breathed here. It was as if Mother Nature was holding her breath in anticipation of what would come next.

   At the time that incident happened, Chaz had paid no mind to the warning signs: He was with other people at the time, conversing like any young adult would when in the company of friends. But, that distraction, his attacker took full advantage of. But, in the end, he might’ve gotten away with his attempt on Chaz…but Karma caught up to him, and he was convicted for an unrelated murder. And the one he tried to kill found himself a better life away from this hellscape of a hometown, scarred as he may have become as a result of the shooting.

   But that was then, in real life…and this was a dream, Chaz had concluded. He let out a sigh of dread: He knew what was bound to happen, but running away would do no good: He tried that already. Better he face it, and get this alternate set of events done and over with. And so, he approached the place where he was sure his attempted killer hid himself, telling himself that it was solely a dream and he’d be fine: It was only a re-telling of events.

   Through the fog, he could make out a figure: Smaller than Chaz himself, with a hoodie concealing his identity. It seemed the figure wasn’t expecting his prey to approach him: He wasn’t even facing the exit of the alleyway, and once he did turn around, he seemed shocked that His target was just…there. But rather than pull his gun and immediately shoot, he turned tail and ran. Chaz initially gave chase, but lost the guy in the maze that was the alleyways. The fog certainly wasn’t helping: It left the hyperthymesiac completely turned around. Worse yet, the path seemed to change whenever he attempted to retrace his steps: Dream logic had seemingly taken hold and made the place much harder to navigate. Panic initially crossed the pianist’s mind, but just as quickly he regained composure. It wasn’t his first rodeo with dreams like this, and he doubted it would be his last: It was the nature of the beast, so best he could hope for was the dream ended quickly. So forth he went…

   At some point the fog grew too thick to see beyond a few feet, and he grew no closer to the end. But something of interest changed: A heart monitor noise started playing in the distance. Using it as a point of reference, he made his way around, his ears proving of more use than his eyes. Although, the halls started growing tighter, and the fog started giving way to blinding lights. Certainly, he went from the alleyways to some hospital. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was expecting: while nearly untouchable, his memory wasn’t without its occasional flaws. For one, if his senses were compromised, he'd struggle to remember exact details like time and location: Something pain could easily do, especially if it’s so overwhelming one would end up passing out from the shock. He shook it off for now, and pressed onward. He’d soon find the source: One lonely room labeled as 146, with his own name written as the patient’s name. It seemed like only yesterday that he’d find himself at a hospital like this, with three gunshot wounds: but it happened almost 8 years ago. Sometimes it stunned him how long ago some events in his life were, since his mind preserved the memories so well you’d think they only happened to him a day or two ago…and quite frankly he sometimes blanked out on how long ago things happened. Taking a breath, he quietly entered the room.

   No one else was in the room besides him, and on the bed was someone covered in a hospital blanket. Some blood had seeped into the sheet, giving a clue where the wounds were located: One on the right leg, one on the abdomen, and the last…near the left eye. As he got closer, he started getting a pins-and-needles feeling in the one wound that scarred: His leg. The heart monitor in turn sped up, usually a sign that someone’s in danger of dying. He pulled back the sheet just a bit, and right about there the heart monitor flatlined. He didn’t pull it all the way off, but he wouldn’t have needed to do such a thing to see what kind of carnage laid before him: Rather than the grazing he got lucky with in life, this dream version had his eye blown to bits, likely a result of a gunshot. It always filled him with dread, seeing this: Both he and anyone he dug up the courage to talk to about this incident knew if the assailant had just a little bit of a better aim, this would’ve been him: He would’ve died at the age of 19, barely an adult. It was some kind of luck, or divine interference (it always depended on who he talked to about it) that he lived, even if the tradeoff was his scarred leg that barely cooperated with his movement. But frankly, he was just grateful that he could live another day, and hardly did he ever take the next day for granted.

   The lights began flickering, enveloping Chaz into darkness. And with no flashlight, he couldn’t figure out what the hell was going to happen next. He couldn’t help but shudder, the wound’s pain growing in rebellion. Quite frankly, this was always the worst part of any of his dreams: Not because he was in the dark, the dark hardly scared him. What scared him was the fact that he wasn’t as alone in the dark as he thought: That someone was there with him, and they wouldn’t have the best of intentions toward him. Those fear were confirmed when he heard an all too familiar click: A gun. By the time he turned towards the source of the sound, the gun fired with a Loud and clear BANG!

   …And just like that, it was over, and the pianist found himself awake once more. His leg ached, and perhaps he was sweating bullets, but he was okay. Still alive and breathing, as it stood, and that’s all that mattered. He looked at the time: 5:55 AM. Most of the others would still be sleeping right now, but not for long. He took a deep breath, pushing the dream aside and got up: No point in trying to fall back to sleep, so better to enjoy the few minutes of alone time he’d have before some of the others started stirring. Perhaps, even, he could start working on making some breakfast. As he got dressed and stepped out of his room, he whispered a little something to himself. It wasn’t much, but sometimes he needed to hear it for himself.

   “Deep breaths… Despite everything, you’re still here. And that’s what matters.”