This piece was inspired by the music video for Gold by Sir Sly. I strongly recommend checking it out before reading this, though it isn't necessary.
Darkness. Then
light.
No memory.
I open my eyes. A flashlight lies on the ground beside my head, its beam shining harshly at my face. I’m out of breath, on my back, on the ground. I can feel pebbles press into my spine through my jacket. My head throbs, pain pulsing through my skull as I look back and forth. I have no idea where I am. Everything is fuzzy. Everything hurts. I think there’s something wrong with my ribs. I sit up, and the motion makes my vision fade for a split second. I clutch my forehead and I feel something sticky. I pull my hand away, and there’s a red splotch on the palm. I have no idea where I am. I look up, at a house. I’m next to it, maybe ten feet away.
It’s old. The white paint is peeled away and the blinds are crinkled and bent. The wood is rotten, and I notice something in a window. A finger. Pressing down a section of the blinds. Someone is watching me. As if they realize that I see it, the finger is pulled back and the blinds revert to their natural, mangled position.
The thought snaps me to reality. I scramble to my feet, ignoring the pain in my skull and grabbing the flashlight before turning back to the house. I cautiously walk to the door. It’s open, and the building seems deserted. The window is in the room to the right, but there’s not so much as a sound from anywhere else in the house. I walk to the dirty glass and stick a finger into the blinds, pressing them down to peer outside.
The sound of metal hitting tile echoes behind me, and I spin around. I brandish the flashlight, its beam illuminating the room sporadically. I edge towards the sound’s origin, the ancient kitchen. The linoleum is cracked and water-stained, and there is a tin can resting on the ground. I stoop to pick it up.
There is a rush of movement out of the corner of my eye. The can falls back to the ground, but I am ignorant of the soft clank. I’m watching the hall, waiting for anything, when suddenly a light catches me. It shines from the window I was watched from, and I duck behind a countertop. I turn off the flashlight, carefully, quietly, and consider using it as a weapon. No. I’m not that kind of man any more. I turn and creep down the hallway, watching for a shape, but there is nothing. I quickly come out of my hiding spot and rush to the stairwell. There is movement above me, and on the first landing there is a note. I pick it up, but a noise distracts me. Something is happening upstairs. The note falls from my hands as I climb the steps.
The sound has died, and I walk down the hall, turning my flashlight back on. There’s silence in the house again. I approach an open door, and I look behind me. The hall is empty. I am alone. I turn to the room, just in time to see a dark shape tumble out of a window. A flashlight clatters onto the floor.
I quickly reach it, picking it up and turning it over in my hands. I compare it to mine. It’s similar to mine. No. It is mine. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a beam of light coming from the hallway. I stand, both of the flashlights in my hands, my back to the open window. A man walks down the hall, and he begins to turn towards me. The five o’clock shadow on his jaw. The wild grey eyes. The tousled hair. The jacket. The wound on his forehead. The flashlight. They’re all similar to mine. No. They are mine. It is me.
The revelation pushes the breath out of my lungs and forces me off balance. I reach to hold onto something, but the window is open. A flashlight slips from my grasp. It clatters onto the floor.
I land on my back first, the other flashlight colliding with my forehead, then coming to a rest, its beam shining into my face. My vision starts to fade, and I see an open window, the curtains fluttering in a soft breeze.
Darkness. Then
light.
No memory.
