Hey guys I'm back and with a new story
Dante learned a long time ago, that reincarnation was an imperfect cruelty placed on his life to make him suffer.
He'd spent most of his childhood sulking in the shadow of his former self, because he knew things, people, places, events, shit that never happened to him before. He'd had his first memory at age five, sitting at the head of his dinner table at his own birthday party, lights dimmed down low and children all gathered around in excitement.
It was the very moment that the candles were lit that the whole room disappeared around him and suddenly he was somewhere else, running down a burning hallway, biting down on his lip hard because his ankle was practically snapped in half. Then suddenly he was back in the room, his mother standing over him screaming, telling him to answer her. And the lights were back on and he had somehow landed on the floor, nose bleeding rapidly.
After that, memories would be triggered one by one at the weirdest of times. He'd gone to every doctor, every shrink on this side of the world and back. Yet nobody could figure out what was wrong with the boy that was spontaneously passing out and having weird dreams. Nightmares. But, Dante knew. He knew.
And, from ages ten to thirteen, he tried to tell his parents, tried to convince them that he had been somebody else in a different lifetime, a shadow of himself. His parents wouldn't hear it though; they told him time and time again that his imagination runs away with him. His mother often laughed it off, posing a fake smile and patting him on the back. His father…well, he just ignored the nonsense all together. At age thirteen he over heard his parents one summer night, talking about sending Dante some place to 'get help.' After that, he stopped trying to convince everybody.
Actually, he stopped talking about it all altogether.
It wasn't until age sixteen when everything started to resurface again, by then, he knew a lot about his other shadow and he'd become used to reliving the harsh memories.
But then, he saw him.
He walked right into Dante's French class and nervously shuffled from foot to foot when the teacher announced his name.
Nero.
He remembered him. His shadow remembered him. They'd known each other, ran around in hard plated masks together, spray painted over restriction signs and left a rose on every planted bomb. And just by the way Nero's gray eyes widened upon seeing Dante, he knew that Nero remembered him as well.
After that, the loneliness didn't seem as deafening. He finally had somebody to talk with, somebody that didn't think he was utterly fucking crazy. The two of them became instant friends, reincarnation has a way of bonding people, he supposed. And they discussed memories for endless hours and what it was like growing up knowing the things they did.
Nero told him that reincarnation worked differently for everyone (those that happen to be chosen in a specific lifetime, that is.) He ran into another from their shadowed lives, Virgil, who said he knew the truth pretty much his entire life, it was always simply…there and he wasn't hit with painful realizations like he and Nero were. But then…there were some that didn't remember at all. And Dante would soon learn how this fact affected him. Because, nobody ever said reincarnation was simple.
Actually, when memories are involved, it can get pretty twisted.