The Split

Chapter 20

Bargersville Indiana, 2018

My dreams had become the ultimate catalyst of my insomnia. I gazed through the front hallway of my old duplex, wondering just how many times my subconscious had played this for me. Every time slumber caught me in is grip, I had been treated to a mental cinema with only film playing, the night of the incident at my duplex.

I watched as Derek and his men charged further into my home guns raised. I had seen the scene unfold so many times now that I knew every detail of the men's faces. I knew where every pellet had entered their bodies, and the spots on the wall where their blood had landed. I was unable to interact with my dream at all. I was a ghost, only given the option of walking around and observing, nothing more than a pair of floating eyes.

Unexpectedly, my dream suddenly changed.

A series of loud booms echoed off the steep incline. All around me I could see men charging up the hill, carrying rifles and yelling out fierce battle cries. To my left I saw a massive pile of bodies in the middle of the hill, stacked with the corpses of horses and men. Behind it was a pair of soldiers crouched using it as cover.

I walked over to them, one was a black man wearing a scared but determined expression , and the other was white with his head turned. The man turned, and I felt a cold sense of shock as I looked at his face.

It was me.

I was dressed like any other soldier on the battlefield, and held my rifle close. Feeling dizzy and confused, I walked up to myself.

"Excuse me."

The other version of me ignored this, and reached all the way through my form to tap the black man on the shoulder.

"Jensen," my other self called out, pulling his hand back through my body, "Let's go!"

The two charged out from behind cover and I followed. Bullets whizzing through me as I made my way up the hill behind them.

"He can't see me," I thought, "And he can't touch me. It's like I'm not really here. But... where is here?"

I moved up the hill backwards, taking in the scenery. The grass was a greenish-yellow and the trees at the foot of the hill clouded the whole area in shadow from the sun high overhead. Once my vision had focused, I could see a battery of cannons and Gatling guns, hidden away in the trees.

"Cuba," I thought in amazement, "I'm in Cuba. It looks just like the pictures."

The other Burl and the black soldier ascended the crest of the hill. The other soldier made it to the top first, and was impaled by a bayonet. I saw the other me call out the name "Jensen", and jumped down into the trenches below.

Standing on the edge of the trench, I watched as I joined the bedlam of soldiers within. Several seconds later, the dream version of me was knocked to the ground. He struggled to grab his rifle but it was kicked away. The enemy pounced on him, and he was able to push him off and crush the man's rib cage with a nearby cannonball.

The other Burl staggered to his feet, and grabbed a nearby saber with one hand, while pulling out a revolver with his other. I walked alongside the trench as my soldier counterpart made his way through it, dispatching man after man with his duel wielded combo.

Soon, he came onto a man in trouble, surrounded by the enemy. As I got nearer, I realized with horror that the man had no face, something my dream self didn't seem to see. He helped the man, but then doubled over in pain holding his head. The man he helped was shouting at him, but I would not respond.