I woke to black, pitch black, like the kind that is described as the "can't see your hand in front of your face kind". The kind that you hear about in books, described by the protagonist, that you think is a good description, but can't really be real.
Then came the sounds, the rise and fall in pitches of a orchestra of violins, the soft tones of voices. Requiem Mass, in D minor of course. I recalled it from when i was a child and my mother would play it to calm herself between arguments with my father.
I sit up to the best of my ability and look for what is making this music I know so well. As stated previously though, I can't see a thing.
After realizing that the search for the music would be pointless, I reside myself to laying back down. the floor I lie on is cold, stone, and yet is somehow comfortable on my aching back.
I try to think how I got here, what the hell could have happened to me to get me in this strange place. Then, it all comes back, as if a wall has fallen in my brain and suddenly the memories that somehow escaped my grasp now seem to slam into me.
It was a cold night, a little humid maybe, and the air felt dead, the only breeze was from passing cars. the drivers of said cars almost seemed in taking glee of passing inches to the side of pedestrians making their way home from work. the headlights would always blind you, the lights reflecting off of the sides of the tightly packed buildings, homes, and stores. Alas, the sins of living in New York. I had grown used to the crazy drivers that seemed to take red lights as a suggestion, and the blinding lights, I suffered through them every day on the way home from my dead-end job.
As another pair of headlights flash, I get a glimpse of myself in the dirt ridden glass of a shop i am currently passing. I see a lanky seventeen year old, with short black hair, pale skin, and green eyes. all decked out in jeans, and a crappy old blue jacket. My mother would kill me for going out in the cold like this, no heavy coat, no thick pants, no giant boots. Well she would, if she was still around.
As I pass by the window, shaking myself out of my internal musings, I pass an alley. I was going to keep walking, but then I heard it. A small pitiful squeak, definitely feminine. I tell myself to keep walking, not my business, not my problem. But something keeps me from passing by. a small sense of heroism, no clue why. and I steel myself, and walk into that alley.
I will regret that decision.