September 27, 2010

Memories Associated with Clothes

                Golden eyes whipped open, wildly looking around the room as he shot up from his bed. With a sigh, he pulled himself from the bed and walked over to the closet. He opened the door, and felt frozen in place.
                This was not a normal thing. He wore the exact same outfit yesterday, a short (ripped) sleeved yellow and red shirt, blue jeans, a black spiked belt, and a red scarf. But this was different; he felt his body freeze up with terror.
                The nightmare from the previous night had been a mesh of old memories. Himself being shot through the fabric of his clothes; his scarf choking him as a gun was pressed against his head; his torso being gashed by the spikes on his belt.
                Bile rushed up his throat, he made it to the window and emptied whatever was left in his stomach. Black spots danced behind his vision as he stumbled to his bed. He crawled under the covers and hid his head. There was one other instanced that made him feel sick again, but without anything left in his stomach it felt like a cold rock had lodged itself there.
                He had worn the same outfit when he had failed to save others. It was during a thunderstorm, the others were following behind him as they fought against wind, no water fell from the ominous black sky. A bolt of lightning had struck a tree next to them, flames licked at the wood.
They couldn’t outrun it, not with the blustering wind. The blaze caught up to them, choking their breath. His scarf had caught on a branch; a girl had tried to help him. Another bolt of lightning struck a nearby tree, it fell towards them. He blacked out for a brief moment, only to see the others collapsing from lack of air as fire greedily sucked it away. He found the girl who had tried to help him, she had been crushed by the tree; her blood inching its way to his immobile arms. He could see the studded bracers on his arm glinting in the fire.
                He shook his head to fight off the memory; that was a long time ago. The things in his dream were far more recent than that. He took in a breath and sat up, managing to stumble to the door. There was at least one thing he could do.
                “Hey, Bass! Can ya’ pick me up some new clothes?”

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