Midnight Memories

CHAPTER - 4:

My eyes are bloodshot and I am sleep deprived. I try to think of a good excuse for my "absence" at work but all I can come up with is a slightly exaggerated and detailed version of my usual excuses. Still, I have a feeling in my gut that today is going to be good. I have plans. I got an appointment to a doctor right away when i woke up, and also I am going to go to the mango tree, which is not too far away from the branch I work in. I can easily walk there.
With a new hope to get some more flashbacks in my mind, I decide to solve another mystery that is my hair. No amount of shampoo, conditioner or actual grease has been able to soften and/or straighten them in the past 3 years. I have hair long enough that they can get to my eye level, still no product has been discovered that could stop the panic attack my hair is constantly having.
Cursing in defeat, I simply part them side-ways in an awkward manner (because of the bandage covering the top of my head), going for a quarter-good look. I have a very stinky mouth ( seeing as I hadn't brushed them for 7 days, oh my sad life), but I get rid of my rotten breath after some vigorous brushing and almost draining my gums of blood.
Andy has a cup of coffee prepared for me when I walk in the living room, and he shoves it in my hand, his mind elsewhere. My shift starts at 10:00 AM and it's just 7:45 at the moment, so I go to do some painting. To do something to get my head out of all the craziness. I sit on my bed, try to focus, but the pounding in my head has returned.
I trust Andy, I really do, I have seen him save at least 3 lives, and he's not even a qualified doctor. Yet. But this pounding is starting to get on my nerves, so I go to remove the bandage and examine the injury. Seeing how Andy has tied the bandage, the injury must be at the top of my head. Ever so lightly, I brush my fingers on my forehead...then move them to the front of my head...then slowly, very slowly, I move my fingers to the back of my head...
"What in the world do you think you are doing?", Andy shouts and catches my hand. I'm so startled that I turn back and almost slip. Andy catches me again, and apologizes, says that he was here to give me my medicines, and strictly tells me to not play with the bandage, that it could undo the stitches.
"I don't think those medicines are necessary, I'll take the meds that the doctor prescribes me, don't worry about it", I tell him. A look of disgust passes over his face and he asks, "What doctor?", in a menacing voice. I feel intimidated.
"It's just a small checkup Andy, don't make a fuss. I'm extremely grateful for everything you have done, but I think it's time to let the professionals take over." I say, with an edge to my voice.
I walk past him, glance at my abandoned painting tools, and go to the living room to avoid Andy. He follows me straight away, and says, "You don't have to do this."
I sit on the couch and prepare myself for an argument. "Look, I know I'd be dead without your help, but -"
"You'll get me in jail if you go to the doctor!", he shouts, cutting me off mid-sentence.
"That makes no sense".
"I'm a student, but you know that I am better than many professionals! You have seen me save lives multiple times! It's just that I'm not qualified to do what I do, and hence I do it illegally. I save lives illegally, Ty."
Now that was a big problem. If the doctors discovered that a 22 year old, unprofessional man had stitched my head up, by using illegally bought drugs and instruments, Andy will get arrested.
So I end up agreeing to cancel my appointment, while he assures me that he'll take care of my head himself.

Andy is a person with 2 completely different personalities. Sometimes I wondered whether he was Bi-polar. He is this A+ grade student with a charming, bold, and confident personality on one hand, while he has also got himself involved in the drugs business on the other hand. Not to take them himself or anything like that, but to experiment. On plants mostly, but sometimes on animals as well. At least that's what he has told me. "We're not like, making a frankenstein or torturing animals or anything like that.", he had once told me. And I believe him, I have no need to doubt him. And well, as long as I don't wake up one day with my hands replaced with elephant trunks, I'm good to go.

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The argument had taken way more time than I expected, and now I was running late for work. If I still had my job, that is, I thought to myself.

I don't have the luxury of any sort of personal transportation, so I have to walk the distance of 2.5 miles everyday. I enjoy it, actually. I have to pass through 2 parks in order to reach to my destination. It gives me time to reflect on the day before, and also prepare for the following day. Hence i reflect, and think about my vivid dream. Or nightmare. I still haven't figured out what to call it. It was not terrifying until the very last part, when my sense of touch came back to life, and I felt just a brush of the blazing heat on my skin, but it's intensity made me twitchy just by thinking about it. So I do the thing that I've recently discovered was the best way to make the walk up to McDonalds less boring. I observe.

It's NYC, and the number of people walking early in the morning still shocks me even after several years of living here. I wonder how many of them are going to their offices expecting whole lot of work, and how many expect just the same boring day that they have been living in for the past 10 years. I wonder how many people have some destination, and how many people are walking aimlessly, hidden behind their sunglasses, hoodies, and makeup, just to escape the insanity that is their life. I am still wondering when I reach the gate of the 1st park. I walk through it and pick up my pace. It's 9:30 AM meaning there will have to be some running involved if I wanted to reach my destination on time.

I look around me. The park is mostly empty besides groups of teens smoking cigarettes secretly. And some old people doing their exercises. I'm observing a man tying his laces when my eyes catch something behind him. I have no idea what I just saw. It was... something red? A big red ball is what I had seen floating behind him out of nowhere and it had vanished before I had time to focus on what it was. I ignore it. Perhaps it's all the medicines that Andy gave me after our fight that were causing me to hallucinate. And I immediately regret my decision of not getting professional help. The pain in my head is still there, I have just grown used to it.

I walk past the man, who has tied his laces successfully and now was doing some stretching, and start running. I see the exit closing up and keep up my steady pace. Two teenagers who looked about 18 were playing football all by themselves. I see one of them lock eyes with me, and I see him kick the ball with all his might, and I see the ball zooming in on me, but I dodge it. I keep walking without bothering to look behind when I hear a faint crack, a blood curling scream and a sound of agony. Pure agony. I see the look of horror on the faces of the 2 boys and know what had happened already before turning back to look behind.

The old man is lying on the ground on his chest, his hand bent at an awkward angle, and the football right under his chin. He must have seen it coming, because his eyes display fear. But I see life pouring out of him as seconds pass, and for some reason, I feel a strong sense of déjà vu, my brain constantly telling me I told you so.
Blood is pouring out of the old man's mouth in a steady flow directly on the ball, making it a shade of deep crimson.