Inception

I ran for what felt like hours, but in reality, only minutes have elapsed. I can hear the howls and cries from the dogs. As I glance back over my shoulder, I can see the ghostly smoke spilling off of their silhouettes.
How could they have found me so fast?
The rain is crashing violently against my face as I struggle to rip through the dark forest. My shoes are sinking into the mud, deeper with every step.Small, hanging branches from the trees cut effortlessly through my skin, leaving numerous wounds on my arms; they sting as the night air touches them.
In the distance, I can make out an outline of a fence. I dash towards it as fast as my legs will allow and as I get close, I realize it is surrounding an old, abandoned fairground. The tattered remains of once vividly colored tents scream for my attention under the searchlights.I am praying for this to be the correct starting point. Otherwise, all my efforts will be in vain. My blood is racing through my veins, my pulse louder than my thoughts.
Would you remember who I am this round? My heart dies a little more each time you don't. Our memories, no one, will take away. I will keep them safe.
I approach the fence, feeling the cold metal against my skin. I press my hands, searching for the perfect link to begin climbing. Bracing my hands, I start moving my feet around, looking for a section to support my footing.My boots can't seem to find a sturdy spot. I am struggling to keep my steps consistent. Fearing the dogs are starting to close in on me, my adrenaline powers my body over the top.
The council couldn't keep me out this time.
My feet slam into the concrete. I pause for thought and survey my surroundings, looking for a place to hide. I notice the noises from the dogs behind me have stopped. It's unlike them to give up so fast, but I don't have time to worry about that now. Looking around the grim scene of the fairground while trying to return my breathing to a normal pace proves to be harder than I expect. The number of tents increased from my last visit. A small surge of anxiety courses through my body as I ponder how I would ever be able to search them all in time. Of all the memories they take away from you, I wish this place would be one of them. The only way to play the game on my terms is to find the gypsy first.
I wonder to myself if this place was ever a source of happiness. A place where a child won a first prize or a couple shared a first kiss. No, this place would never be anything more than a nightmare. I frantically search the various tents, each one possessing fewer items than the last. Alcohol bottles, books with worn covers, and old concession machines. All of it is useless junk.
I keep searching with diligence, checking every chest, cabinet, and table I came across. The rusty trinkets echo as they crash to the floor. An alarm blares in the distance, so I pick up my pace.
The 15-minute warning.
Fear surges through my body as the alarm shatters the silence. I despise that noise; it signifies my countdown beginning. My frustration gets the better of me; I don’t care if anyone or anything was alerted to my presence at this moment. I spot an old Ferris wheel to my right as I exit the tent. Ivy overran the cars, intertwining itself between the broken bulbs. The fallen, multicolored glass was scouring the ground. It crackles under my feet as I approach the ride entrance. The cars rock uneasily as the wind picks up.
Faint marks of paint on the doors suggest the cars had numbers on the front at some point. I imagine this being the moment where you pick out your favorite, but I knew no one would ever get the chance to. I stood on the staircase of the ride; it serves as my stage. I struggle to scream over the alarm for the gypsy to show herself. Fatigue sets in, and I bury my face in my hands. The alarm suddenly stops.
A faint noise of bells drags across the dirt. The sound always seems to entice me, a sweet seduction. I looked up in time to catch a glimpse of the pale, pink train of a dress as it disappeared into the doorway of the tent. This tent was different than the rest, instead of being tattered and worn, the tarp exhibits vivid colors of red, blue, yellow, and green. I can see a warm glow from under the entrance. I spring to my feet in a hasty pursuit. A crystal bead curtain accents the entranceway. The warm glow of candlelight is making the glass dance in a way; I can't help but find intoxicating. As I slide the curtain to one side, I pronounce my footsteps loudly, so she acknowledges my arrival. Her body language suggests she knows I entered the room, but she remains with her back turned. I wait in anticipation, my body tense.
The cards are already laid out on the table. A row of three in the back, two in the middle, and three, again, on the bottom row. The yellow condition of the worn paper stands out against the purple, silk tablecloth. I watch her reaching to ignite one candle in front of her, but the whole wall of candles synchronizes in the same flame. I swallow hard, feeling the lump that is forming in my throat
I step forward to tell her I've had enough of her cheap parlor tricks. She then speaks to me, "I must advise you to reconsider your presence here, Ares. My word is my bond. You have my word this will be the last time".
Three times, is a charm, isn't it?
I watch as the cards rise from the table into a fast shuffle, one separates and falls to the ground. The two bodies intertwining in the picture spark my recognition. The lover's tarot card. She summons the card to her hand in one swift motion as she says, "Ahh, I see. Very well then, "I must warn you, this game has evolved. Your mistakes will not go unpunished, and failure will not only affect you, but others will suffer. Are you willing to gamble their fate also?"
Others? But how? The rule states alliances are not permitted.
Her question causes my body to freeze. I know what I want to say, but the words won't come out. Her stare pierces through me as I contemplate her statement. She waits this time for my answer with intent. Not knowing what is to unfold, I acknowledge her with a nod. A sardonic smile creeps across the woman's face.
She gestures for me to place my hand into hers, her knife cuts into my palm with purpose. My blood pours onto the ground. The lover's tarot card absorbs the blood I spill. The warmth covers my hand, triggering a familiar sick feeling in my stomach. My body lowers itself on the ground, and my vision fades. The bells from the dress whisper goodbye as she puts distance between us. The game is ready to start. I close my eyes to enjoy my last few minutes of solace before this nightmare introduces itself all over again.
After all, it's my 24th birthday, and I'll spend it how I always do: at the Fairgrounds.