Regiphobia

The Dream

Goda opened his eyes. He wasn't in his bedroom, he was in a hospital. Lights flickered on and off above him. The windows had rotting boards over them. It was hard to see, but it was really dark outside. Behind him, there was a set of double doors. In front of him was an expansive hallway full of doors on either side that he could just barely see the end of. He couldn't tell if it was a dead end.

Goda walked to the set of double doors. A small sign beside the handles said: "Pull." The letters were worn, but they could still be read. He tried pulling on the handles. Locked. He'd have to try and find a key for this one if he wanted to get out this way. He kept trying to pull before his hands slipped off and he fell back. No luck, just like always. With a huff, he stood up and brushed the dust off himself. When he looked down, he saw his outfit. A ratty sweater and shredded up jeans. Just like he'd worn at his dad's house.

He turned back to the hallway. He started walking down. He stopped at the first door, grabbing the handle and trying to open it. As the door swung open, Goda stiffened. Inside, the floor was grass and the walls disappeared, revealing a cloudy, slightly foggy day. He hadn't been here in years. Directly in front of him was a tombstone.

Serena Koetsu

19XX-20XX

You will be missed.

Goda had to hold back tears. He moved closer to the stone, falling to his knees in front of it. When he spoke, his voice sounded distant and murky.

"I'm sorry, mom..."

He kneeled there, shoulders trembling, for who knows how long. Then he forced himself to stand and leave the room, looking at the grave one last time over his shoulder before shutting the door. He wiped the moisture from his eyes, then walked down the hall. He had to keep moving.

Behind this one was a scene he'd never be able to forget. It was a dirt road in practically the middle of nowhere. Goda walked down it towards a large figure. It was a carriage, tipped over on the side of the road. In front of it lay two horses, riddled with bullets. Dead. He dreaded looking inside, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. He pulled open the carriage door.

Inside was exactly what he'd expected. The mangled, bloodied bodies of his grandparents. He gagged at the smell, turning away quickly. He slammed the door shut, turning and walking out of the room. He choked on the scent of blood and tried to rub the feeling of fog off his skin. Neither dissipated. He shook his head and walked towards the next door.

In this one, he saw his father's back. He tried to step out of the room, but the door slammed and locked behind him. He didn't get to leave until the memory ended. His father turned his head, revealing half of his enraged face.

"Late. Again. What did I tell you last time?"

He heard his own voice leaving his lips, even though he hadn't meant to say anything. It was like watching a movie, but he could feel everything.

"D-Dad, my t-teacher asked me to st-tay late, I even have a note-"

"A note I have no doubt you forged. Where the fuck were you?"

"At sch-chool, you can c-call!"

His dad moved towards him, and he was that terrified five-year-old again, shaking and backing up against the door to get away.

"Bull. Shit."

He felt the stinging pain before he saw his dad's hand move. Tears escaped his eyes as he felt a bruise forming on his cheek. He cowered against the wall as his dad sneered. He grabbed his arm, yanking him closer. That would certainly leave a mark.