OHAI. So, this is a short, drabble-y sort of thing...I felt like Artie had these-... It will make sense in the end...
It was that time of year again.
"Artie, we have to go. I'm sorry if you don't want to leave, but we have to," my mom asserted, trying to grab on to my hand. Me and my sister, Grace, were playing happily on the swing sets, chasing each other around. It was one of those fun weekends where my sister stayed home from her friend's house to play with me, something she didn't do that often anymore. She told me that 10th graders don't play with 8 year olds, but I still loved the fun times. I still loved the way my sister would go down the bright, yellow slide even though she was far too big for it and it would dent in whenever she slid down it with her hands in the air. I still loved how she would laugh and I would laugh and everything would be just like it should be. I felt like I was 8 years old, just like I should have. I felt in my place.
"But, mom!" I whined in protest, swinging higher on the old wooden swing set in the front yard. My mom tapped her foot.
"Art, go with mom," Grace giggled, hanging on to one side of the swing. I came back down to the ground, scraping my feet against the dirt, kicking it up in the air. I waved to Grace, following my mom into the little silver car sitting in the driveway. Grace waved back as I stepped into the car, swinging my feet. I strapped myself into the seat, the sunshine pouring into the window. I made shadow puppets on the other side of the vacant seat, pushing my new glasses back up my nose. My mom started to pull out of the driveway, adjusting the mirror to look at me.
"We'll be back home soon so you can play with Grace again, okay?" My mom said, glancing at the mirror every once in a while, "You just have to be good at my Book Club, okay? I think Finn might be there." She paused, "He's one of your friends from school, right?" I nodded feverishly. Finn and I were best friends forever, two peas in a pod, "Good! You two can play outside!" My mom said, waving an encouraging hand. I smiled at her, still making little shadow puppets on the seat. I smiled at myself, humming a little tune. My mom gave me a weak smile, before the whole delicate balance was all ruptured.
I knew it wasn't real. I knew it wasn't. The tiny piece of my conscious mind was screaming at me to shake myself from the memory.
You're going to die. Wake up. WAKE UP.
I shook in my sleep, sucked right back into the dream.
I whipped my head around to the source of the disruption, a woman's distorted face leaving a mental stain in my mind forever. I screamed in unison with my mom as the huge van hit us, flipping the tiny car several times. I was tossed out of my seat, bouncing around the car.
"MOMMY!" I screeched, my mom's head laying limply, unable to hear my cries for help, "MOMMY, STOP THE CAR!" My words fell on deaf ears as I could feel the warm blood trickling down my back, the car finally stopped. My head started to spin as I tried to find the source of the blood.
It was so real. It must have been.
You're dying. Wake up.
The sweat started to bead on my forehead.
"Mommy," I whispered, begging for her to comfort me, just to hold me close and tell me everything was going to be okay. I noticed a deep gash on her forehead as I finally lay lifelessly on the back seat. I looked down, noticing the seatbelt wrapped around my leg. It was wrapped there, but I couldn't feel it. My brain screamed to move my leg and kick it off, but I couldn't. My brain screamed louder, accompanied by my own frustrated screaming, "MOVE! MOVE!" I screamed at it, begging my lower half to move out of the way of the aftermath. I looked behind me, begging for a way out of this terrible place. That's when I noticed it. The piece of glass. The unforgiving, evil piece of glass. A fragment of the windshield pressed deep into my spine. At that point, I just screamed. The blood pounded in my ears, my heart pumping faster than usual.
So vivid.
WAKE UP. YOU'RE DYING RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOUR OWN EYES. WAKE UP.
So real.
The blood was dribbling down the back of my pants, not that I could feel it. I couldn't feel the little pricks of scrap metal sticking out of my legs, I couldn't feel the warmth of the sun pouring down on them. I couldn't feel a thing. I breathed faster, screaming harder for a way out. That's when the memories started to slip away, the world disintegrating before my eyes.
It was so real.
You're dead. Way to go, Abrams.
My eyes snapped open, the hot, furious tears spilling down my face.
"MOM!" I was still screaming, even though I was fully conscious. I was sobbing into my hands, sitting up on my bed, "Mom." I whispered, defeated. I uncovered my legs, glancing down at them. I flicked my right leg with my fingers, no prickling pain received on the other end. I started crying harder, frustrated and angry, "You're useless." I spat, punching my legs with clenched, sweaty fists. There were probably deep blue bruises forming in the places of my punches, but I didn't care. I couldn't feel them anyway. I wiped the beads of sweat from my pounding forehead, sparking more tears.
"Artie, baby," My mom cooed, bustling to my side. She knew perfectly well what was wrong. I had these nightmares all of the time, reminding me of everything that happened and everything that never will happen. I collapsed into her arms, sobbing uncontrollably. It was like being 8 years old again, that unfortunate afternoon before Book Club, "Don't cry, baby. It was only a dream. It was just a dream." I could feel my mom crying, shuddering along with me. She sniffled, trying to hold the tears back.
"I'm s-sorry," I stuttered, choking a small response through the blanket of tears, "I'm s-s-sorry." This happened every year, less and less each time. Around the time of my accident when I was 8, I always had these reaccuring nightmares, each one just like the last. You would think I would be used to them by now, but the reminders were too vivid to handle. I wouldn't even get into a car the next day most of the time.
"Hush, baby. Don't cry," My mom whispered again, "Don't cry."
It was that time of year again.
oh well...I guess I just missed writing Artie. Bye, lovely seals...just remember, I love reviews, especially fic suggestions...I love youuuu