In 500... (or less)

A Question of Sanity

John Winslow shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Relax, Mr. Winslow," Kinsley said. "If we want to make any progress here, you're going to have to open up a little to me."

"Ok," he answered. "Where do I start?"

"Let's talk about your dream again," Kinsley said. "You know, the one where you're a soldier."

John looked at her warily, certain that she thought he was certifiable.

"Well, it wasn't at all like a dream. I mean, I could smell gunpowder. I could feel the wood splintering from the trees as the bullets hit it."

Kinsley didn't look up. She typed quickly on her keyboard, taking notes as she only half-listened.

"Where did you say it was again?" She asked, trying to catch up to what John was saying.

"Battle of the Wilderness," he replied. "I remember writing in my journal, I mean, the one I had with me on the battlefield. The entry was May 5, 1864."

"It's highly unusual to read something in your dreams," she said. "Perhaps it is more like a..."

She wanted to say hallucination, but stopped herself. "Perhaps like a conscious fantasy."

"Who fantasizes about being shot at?" John was annoyed, he knew she didn't believe him.

"What about your childhood? What's your earliest memory?" Kinsley knew she had messed up, she was trying to steer the session back toward something more comfortable.

"It's odd," John answered. "It's all a jumble. I remember one of those old-fashioned water pumps. Maybe it was my grandparent's farm. But I feel like it was ours. Like my parents."

"I thought you grew up in Annapolis. That's where you told me you were from."

"I do remember Annapolis too. Going to see Cal Ripken play when I was a kid. But also being on a farm in Pennsylvania. I hope that doesn't sound too confused."

"Perhaps it was a relative's house you remember in Pennsylvania." Kinsley smiled genially as she typed. The delusions went back a long time.

"The last thing I remember from the dream, er fantasy, whatever you want to call it, was advancing toward Cold Harbor."

"I'm not familiar..."

"It's in Virginia. I'm part of the 138th Pennsylvania Infantry, Col. Benjamin Smith commanding."

"That's oddly specific for a dream as well, Mr. Winslow."

John knew it wasn't normal, he didn't her to tell him that. His condition kept him from holding down a job. He felt like he spent long stretches away from home.

"Do you think I'm crazy?"

"It doesn't appear like you are, at least in most respects. I'll need more time for a diagnosis, but we'll get to the bottom of it."

"Yeah, things aren't always as they appear," John said. "I'm telling you it felt like I was there. I remember the moss on a fallen tree I jumped behind to dodge bullets. It was so real."

"We'll cover this more in your next session," Kinsley said, standing up. John thanked her and filed out.

But John never came to his next session, or the one after that. Curious, Kinsley decided to look up the unit John had described.

She turned white as she read: "Cpl. John A. Winslow, killed June 3, 1864, Cold Harbor."

Maybe she was the one who was crazy.