Pencils and Pens
The smells of smoke and oil permeated the air. The heat of the sun bore down on the barren land like a thick blanket. Fires raged all around him. Tightly gripping his rifle, he tried to walk but his legs would not move. The air became heavy and hard to breathe. The fires began to grow, enveloping everything around him. The sand turned black and formed wicked shards. He watched in horror as the landscape transformed into a hell on Earth. With renewed vigor, he tried to run, to move, to do anything, but his body did not respond. The sand started to crawl up his boots, slowly climbing higher and higher up his body. The world was swallowing him whole and he was helpless to stop it.
Alan shot out of bed, his heart racing and eyes wide with fear. His hands shot up to his head, trying to find a helmet that was no longer there. They slowly moved down to his ears, searching for an imaginary headset. He groaned and massaged his temples. It was just another dream.
"Fuck."
He looked around the dark room and found solace in the picture of the Matterhorn hanging on his wall. He stared at it, taking in the majestic peaks and beautiful blue sky. The picture seemed out of place in his sparsely decorated room but it was his favorite piece. It reminded him that he was back in the real world.
And not that despicable desert, Alan thought to himself. Mention of the arid climate brought him to realize his raging thirst. He grunted as he pulled himself out of bed and onto his trembling feet. Great, now I have a chance of slipping to death to go along with my dehydration.
He shakily walked through his apartment to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. With as much self-control as he could muster, Alan successfully brought the cool pitcher of water out of the fridge and set it onto the counter. He then grabbed a cup from the cabinet and set it down next to the pitcher.
Now, let's see if I can do this without waking the neighbors this time…
Quivering hands grabbed the pitcher and began pouring its contents into the cup.
So far so good…
As his confidence grew, his hands betrayed him and the pitcher slipped from his grasp. He watched in horror as the glass container landed on the floor with a loud crash, shattering into a thousand pieces.
Sighing, Alan slammed his head into the wall in defeat.
You can't even pour a glass of water. Ridiculous.
He shut his eyes, waiting for the inevitable knock on his door that would signal the arrival of concerned neighbors.
Soon enough, there was a firm rap on his door.
"Alan! Is everything alright?"
Dismally, he straightened up and trudged over to the door. He opened it just enough for him to peek out and couldn't help but grin at the sight of his landlady holding a flashlight in a combat stance. Putting on his most reassuring smile, he proceeded to fully open the door.
"I'm fine, Mrs. Engel."
The old lady eased her posture but the look of concern remained on her face.
"What was that noise?" She inquired.
Alan shrugged, trying to hide the fact that he knew exactly what that noise was.
"Nothing, it's fine."
The old woman narrowed her eyes and looked suspiciously at Alan's seemingly calm face, trying to find any signs of deception. After a few moments of silence, Mrs. Engel opened her mouth to speak.
"What did you break this time?"
Alan's eyes widened with surprise and he took a small step back, giving Mrs. Engel the chance to scurry into the apartment. He barely recovered from the initial shock when the landlady discovered the shattered remnants of the glass pitcher in the kitchen. Expecting the old woman to scold him, he readied himself for the verbal assault. Instead, the she bent down and began picking up the broken fragments of the pitcher. Sighing, Alan went over to help her.
After the glass fragments and spilled water were cleaned up, Mrs. Engel plopped down on a kitchen chair with a sigh of relief. Then, her face turned serious and she gestured for Alan to sit down.
"Alan, your…nightly incidents are getting worse. This is the third night in a row that you've broken something."
Alan dismissed the thought with a wave. "It's nothing, I'll get over it."
The old woman pushed on. "That is exactly what you said when those headaches began, now look what's happening. Besides, you've been losing so much sleep lately. It's a miracle that you're grades are still afloat."
Alan opened his mouth to respond but was abruptly cut off.
"Tomorrow, I will schedule for you to see a psychiatrist."
"What?" Alan previously had an inkling of where the conversation was leading to, but it still came as a surprise to him.
Mrs. Engel nodded. "His name is Dr. Pabbston, he's an old friend of mine and I can assure you that he is a professional."
A pair of electric blue eyes narrowed at the old woman.
"No, I can handle this by myself. I'm not going to sit down with some old geezer and have him ask me stupid questions about my life."
The old woman was unperturbed. "As evidenced by your incident tonight, it is quite obvious that you cannot handle this. Besides, you may be breaking menial household objects now, but what will happen later? The last thing I want to happen is for you to be running around, reenacting your past in your sleep, hurting yourself, and then scaring my tenants."
Alan shrugged, trying to seem unconcerned. "No, I have already said that I can handle this by myself, it's just going to take some time. End of story."
He then leaned back in his chair and noticed that his hands were trembling again.
Crap.
He looked at his palms. A scar on his right palm stuck out to him, glaring at him, reminding him of the place he left eleven months ago. His heart rate quickened as memories began to flash through his mind.
"Alan."
Mrs. Engel's voice penetrated through the fog, bringing Alan back to reality. He looked at the old woman and saw a saddened expression on her face. Sensing that there was more, he stayed silent.
"I can't imagine what you went through over…there. But, I can see what you are going through now and it pains me to see you suffer like this." She closed her eyes and paused.
Alan remained silent.
After a moment, Mrs. Engel opened her teary eyes and continued. "You're like a son to me, Alan, so please understand that I am only trying to help." She closed her eyes again and exhaled.
Affected by her sympathy, he sat up a little straighter and relented. "Fine."
Smiling, Mrs. Engel nodded and cleared her throat. "Well, I'd better get going." She stood up and began walking to the door with Alan following. Once she was out in the hallway, she turned to face Alan. "What time would be the most convenient tomorrow?"
"Any time." He had classes on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and with tomorrow being Thursday, he was free all day.
"Alright, then I will schedule for the appointment to be at ten o'clock." With that, Mrs. Engel turned and began walking before she paused and turned around again. "And please, try to get some rest."
After the landlady left, Alan closed the door and trudged over to the couch.
I am definitely not going back to sleep.
He turned on the television and began flipping through the endless slideshow of infomercials and late night sitcoms.
"And I said 'What happ-"
"You can have it all now with the purchase of-"
"No way! She did not just say-"
"A small British military convoy was ambushed in Afghanistan, resulting in three dead and seven wounded."
He froze as images of smoldering rubble were shown on the screen. His mind began flooding with memories. The debris, the smoke, the sand, it all seemed so familiar. The newscaster's voice was beginning to be drowned out by the sound of gunfire and explosions.
No,no,no,no,no,no,no
He began sweating as he screwed his eyes shut and struggled to suppress the images, but that only served to make them more vivid. His head began to ring with the sound of each blast. He couldn't take it anymore, it felt like the world was collapsing in on itself.
Control it!
The gunfire and explosions began to fade away, replaced by the sounds of the television. Alan slowly opened his eyes and was met by the sight of a newscaster. Panting, he realized that his heart was racing and he was trembling again.
"Fuck."