Nightmare

It was the first day of school, and Jeremiah was already late. His parents dropped him off at the front of the school, which was desolate and eerie in the early morning fog. His backpack was stuffed to the brim with textbooks, pencils, pens, papers, rulers, crayons, colored pencils, erasers, folders, binders, his pet gerbil, and three pencil cases. It was probably more than he needed, but he wanted to make sure he was ready, and he was certain that if he had left any of it behind, he was going to end up needing it after all. The weight of the pack was straining against its own straps, to say nothing of his back and shoulders. It weighed easily fifty pounds. Possibly a hundred.

He was worried that the moment he would walk into class, his professor would stop everything in order to yell and lecture him about why he should have been on time and how being so late was detrimental not only to him, but to his classmates as well. What kind of employee would he be in the real world if he couldn't be bothered to show up on time to his own education? But by the time he was getting to class, recess was starting, and the other students were rushing out the doors towards the playground, nearly trampling him along the way.

He dropped off his bag at his desk and ran after the others. He found a group of them playing war on the field and decided to join them. He was handed an M-16 and told to get to work mowing down the scum on the other side. He pointed and pulled the trigger without asking twice. Bullets flew from the muzzle like wildfire, falling down on unsuspecting victims, painting the ground left and right red with their blood. The ammo belt around his shoulders ran endlessly through the chamber. And then he watched as one of the bullets ricocheted off of one of the storage containers out in the field and flew back at him, piercing himself in the chest.

His father was kneeling over him as he lay dying in the grass. He was trying to speak, but the child could hear no words. Only the beating of his own heart in his eardrums, threatening to deafen him and sending careening into the ravine with each pounding smack against his ribs. Jeremiah looked down at the child in his arms, filled with remorse and regret for all of the things that he had not yet taught him. To have his child stripped away from him before the boy had ever had a chance to grow. To see that blood spilling down and staining the snow as it fell around them.

And then the doorbell rang, and he answered it to see his friends there waiting with smiles on their faces, ready for the party. He invited the six of them in, excited for the fun that the five would have. He had laid out four seats at the dining table so that no one would go without. And after dinner, the three proceeded into the bathroom, where there were two tvs, so that it would be easy to play the single player game.

The dark was abrupt and intense. It felt like it was trying to consume him. And then it did.