Stream of Consciousness Chp 7-10

~7~

It’s funny, the things that pops up in your mind when your eyes are closed and everything is surrounded in darkness, desperation, and sadness.
“You’re going to be alright.”
The lights blinded me when I tried to open my eyes, nothing seems to be making sense anymore, like the war that we were all trapped into at the time.
She smiled at me and said hello.
The beeping and rhythms of a pacemaker made up for the background music.
She had on a light blue scrub, a white apron stained heavily by varying puddles of blood veiled her body, as she checked on bags of liquid that were on a metal stand, connected to a clear tube that went into a needle, a needle stuck into my veins, covered and held firm by layers and layer of tape.
“Welcome back, Mr. Hayashi.”
I looked at her with the blandest expression.
“I’m guessing this is a hospital?” I weakly said, it should have been a greeting instead, yet it didn’t occur to me at the moment.
“Yes, you were brought in here as soon as you were shot at Vendetta.”
Vendetta, my town, now probably crumbled into pieces and debris, by the various bombs and battles that had happened while I was there last.
I nodded and closed my eyes again.
“You should thank your friend whenever you see her again,” She said, checking on the equipments that surrounded me. “She carried you off the field and donated some blood to replace the ones that you have lost.”
I wondered if I looked a little distraught and confused as I stared at her with one opened eye.
“Who?” I had asked.
“I don’t know her name, she was in your battalion during your last battle.”
Out of everything in my mind, it drew a blank.
I really didn’t know anything at all.
The wooden cross I still carried weighted heavily on my chest.

~8~

When I asked about where my dog tag was, they told me it was lost somewhere in the battlefield, amongst the mud and blood that flowed through here and there. My name was probably buried there, amongst the dead and the blank eyes that blame those who pass, waiting to be picked up, waiting to be pronounced dead. They told me that they would get me another one, but I wondered if they would just find it near some dead corpse, and my name would be pronounced "Killed In Action", dead at the battlefield for the honor of the country.
The bullets had gone through various parts of my body, miraculously missing all the vital organs in the process. Some bones were shattered and some muscles ripped, but overall, I would recover in a few months or so, and while it wouldn't be completely, it would be enough for me to stand on my own and pronounce myself healthy.
They said that hopefully the war would end by then, and we can all just go back to our normal lives, go back being the person we were before it all started.
I don't think you can ever go back to normal again.
It's like the scars in your skin. You can't take them back, they will never heal like they did before, and the mark stained on it will stay forever, reminding you of that moment, reminding you of the emotions you felt at the time. Like a scratched record, it would repeat itself over and over again, each time less audible than the last, but still strong enough to strike a string at your heart.
Just like the wooden cross resting on my chest.
Just like the memories that would never leave.
Kyle on fire by the lime-orange tree, screaming at me for help and resolution.
Nothing can ever be the same, ever again.

~9~

The dreams returned again, the ones that were filled with memories that were meant to be buried, and stories that were never meant to be heard of again.
I was going down with Chita, once again, in that dusty and poorly-lit haunted house, the one where all the memories of the inhabitants past still lingered on, the one where we went deeper and deeper, down into the basement, down into the dark.
Our breaths were the only things heard in the dark, our eyes trying to adjust, trying to find just one thing to be seen, just one thing to make us feel normal again.
“Why did you follow me?” She asked, just like she did at that house, just like she does now.
I couldn’t answer then, because I couldn’t think of anything to reply. I still couldn’t now, in the dream, because I’ve never thought about it since then.
Her footsteps kept moving on, so mine just blindly followed hers, clump clumping our way across. What were we searching for? I still didn’t know.
This trip was running out of steam.
“Let’s go back, there doesn’t seem to be anything down here.” I said, sounding like a little boy, the voice shaking a little as it rattled my throat.
“Are you scared?” Her voice echoed back to me.
“Why would I be?”
“I don’t know, only you would know what you feel like, right?”
I felt lonely.
I felt something.
A glint came in the dark.
The barrel pointing at my face, the black metal trying as hard as it can to reflect light.
“What do you think of now?” Her voice accompanied it, the barrel’s opening now coming closer to me, touching its cold surface onto my own.
I didn’t say anything, I didn’t know what to say.
“What would you say if I pulled the trigger and shot you now?”
The things that kids said when they were young.

~10~

By the time I was ready again, the war had ended.
Some would argue that, for the death toll was still winding up, still going on.
Everything wasn't going to be the same ever again.
The war had been announced as finished when they won the war, when the central building of our government was taken over, toppled by the tanks and explosives set towards it. The symbols of our nationality were torn down and burned, our individuality gone, gone.
They called it freedom. They called it life. They called it a better life than our own.
If you tumble down the leader, we'll all tumble down with him, right?
Right?
Staring out at the top of the roof, at a flat surface on top of the hospital, I saw the explosion flares and the little flashing bullets that went on through the night sky. I made a wish on these flying comets, maybe it'll come true.
I dug a hole in the garden the next day, and told the wish into the hole, buring it all afterwards. If I kept my wish hidden, it might become true, right? They said that if a wish to a shooting star was kept secret, it'll come true for the wisher.
The tooth fairy and the Easter bunny would be proud of me.
Even though we're freed, soldiers who gave us our freedom still roamed our streets, staring at us with a suspicious eye, telling us that it is time for our curfew and sleep.
In exchange for this type of freedom, we have lost our souls.
Nothing will be the same ever again.