As the rain tumbled down, dancing beyond the silhouettes of the blackened trees, I tried my hardest to not join the puddled mud on the ground. Giving up seemed so easy; so comfortable. Yet, continuing on was the only chance I had at survival. I couldn't give up now.
I bent over, arms resting anxiously on my wavering knees, and puked the remaining contents of my stomach into the foggy landscape below me. I paused for a second, trying to remember whether I had eaten anything black or if I was just puking up pure bile at this point.
There was something about this moment that seemed so familiar, like it had already happened once before. Things like deja vu made me nervously suspicious of superstition. Maybe that's why I always wore two different colored socks. Maybe I was just disorganized.
As I traveled farther, I came across what seemed to be an abandoned Carnival. The dirt covered Merry-Go-Round reminded me of when I was little, and when I wanted to be big like my dad. And when he was my hero and I didn’t know where babies came from.
But that was alright because I knew that we would get ice cream later, and although I knew my dad wouldn’t let me get sprinkles because I always made a mess, I knew that it wasn’t a big deal, but I cried anyway. And then I got sprinkles because he felt bad.
I sat in one of the dusty, rotted seats of a Bumper Car, and closed my eyes. Everything went back to the way it used to be. Innocent, colorful, unaware. Like it was early in the morning on a Saturday, watching cartoons and eating all of the marshmallows right out of the Lucky Charms box.
For a brief second, I could almost hear the television blasting again. The smell of waking up to breakfast. The coldness of my feet as I realized that my socks had somehow disappeared sometime in the duration of my sleep. And then the emptiness returned.
I fell asleep, pretending. Pretending that everything was going to be alright.
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