Something to Remember

Chapter One

“People aren’t defined by their past. It creates them but it does not rule over them forever. Some allow it to. Some fall under it’s spell and are captivated by its withdraws. But others who are strong enough, they rise above it like a phoenix out of the raging flames. They come back stronger and fuller than before, they can finally spread their wings to great lengths and take control over their own life. They will no longer be ruled by what has happened to them, or whatever fate they believed was set for them, they make their own roads. They build their own paths from blood, sweat, and tears. They fight for the sweet freedom that was never given to them willingly. Those people are the same people that you walk past everyday, that you work with, or maybe even live with. Life is a battle, some people have to fight harder than others. Some are chained by what they have seen and done- but it is the journey that defines us. It is not the path made for us, but the path we have made for ourselves. When it comes to fate, we are our own Gods.”

     The days always became longer as summer rolled around. The known terrible heat in Kansas made summer time much worse if there wasn’t a pool or lake to hop into and cool down. They say the sidewalks are hot enough to cook on, children would huddle around and crack eggs on them just to see if it would actually work. It was so hot some days that the plants were dehydrated and they would wilt as if it was the winter season. Night time wasn’t so bad though. The air felt cleaner and free from the insufferable humidity that casted this sticky feeling on people whenever they stepped out. Since there wasn’t much rain then, the clouds tended to willow away and leave the skies clear. During the night you could see a million stars lighting up the view, each and every glimmer had its own place in the abyss of shadowy darkness.

     The soft night breeze was a relief as a man stepped out of his car after a long day at work. ‘The Family Business’ was his job. Ever since he was a child he never really had a choice in what he could and couldn’t do as far as his life went. He wasn’t the smartest kid, that was always his younger brother, so it was better off him being chained by his father's work than his sibling who had so much hope and potential in his future. Besides, being a mechanic wasn’t so bad. It didn’t pay the best, but it was a steady job, people always needed their vehicles fixed no matter what time of year it was.

     Dean Winchester was his name. People knew him as ‘the guy from the auto shop on sixth street’, or ‘that guy with the freakishly green eyes that’s at Gabe’s café every Thursday at exactly six A.M.’, or even ‘that guy with the really tall brother’- few knew the real Dean. The one that was currently on his way to the basement of a old church to talk about his alcoholism problem with a circle of other common addicts. “It’s not that bad” he tried to convince his brother, but Sam knew he was lying. Sam always knew when his brother was lying. Their father, John, had the same problem and it made him a monster growing up. Sam never wanted to see his older brother becoming that so he gave him a choice: The Lawrence Baptist Church’s recovery circle, or the hospital.  It was a clear decision for him, besides he didn’t think he actually needed it so his plan was to just sit through it until the leader gave him the O.K to stop going. It couldn’t be that long. But this was his third month going, as well as his third month clean.

     “Well, look who isn’t actually late this time.” Dean immediately heard as he stepped out the creaky door of his car. He flickered his eyes up, already knowing it was Sam taunting him. “Can it, Sammy” he hissed and crossed his arms. Sam laughed a bit and walked over to his brother, leaning against the slick hood of his black Impala, a old 1967 model. “Seriously dude, why do you keep making me go to these stupid things? It’s all a bunch of middle aged douche bags getting paid to read us some half-cocked fortune cookie crap out of their little phycology books…” Dean mumbled under his breath as he took the black and red flannel that had been tied around his waist and slid his arms into the sleeves, then double rolling the edges so it went to his forearm instead of to his wrist. Sam had heard his brothers rants a million times by now, and every time he gave him the same answer. “Because, you need it. You don’t take care of yourself so someone has to do it for you.” He explained, talking with his hands just as he always did. Dean looked to the other side of his street to nothing particular, just killing time and trying to avoid the gaze from his brother. At the same time, he was mentally preparing himself for the next hour and a half he’d have to sit in the basement of the musty church and  talk about the things that went on in his head.