Concentration

Day 4,178, 17:09 • Published in Ireland Canada • by Amaryllis Bloom

Staring out into the open space again. The trees are starting to unfurl their tiny flags of green. They are more noticeable today, looking brilliant against the rain darkened branches. The smell after a rain. Something about it makes me think of something. Or somewhere. The earthiness. Dirt. Grit. Sand. I remember the sand. I subconsciously move my foot around in my boot, expecting to feel it there now.

I was shown more photos of my life "pre-bullet". I look photoshopped into everything. But there I am, smiling, tan, with a group. If it weren't for the matching tan shirts and really big f*cking guns, you'd think we were having a day at the beach or something. I noticed it had been cut. To hide something? To fit in a wallet?

The sun is hiding today. Which I guess helps with my mind. The sun shining in my face tries to bring memories to the surface, and my mind buries it as quickly as it can. Quick sand. Sand. I hate sand. My head feels as cloudy as the day looks. Probably due to my dream. It felt so real. A memory maybe? I shudder. I hope not. So much death and blood. The screams. Carrying some one. Their blood filling my shoe. I move my toes around, no squishy sock.

Still trying to identify the man with those eyes. I still feel like people are keeping me from the truth. When I dream, which is hardly ever, I see his face. His eyes still pierce, but with a different intensity. What is keeping him from reaching out? There's a connection. There has to be. I just know it. I close my eyes and try to focus on his face. Was he what was cut from the photo? Concentrate. I look at his face, trying to avoid his eyes. I KNOW what those look like. Piercing blue steel. Ok, focus. He's in uniform. Progress! I look at the name tape -click click- My mind shuffles like a deck of cards, back to the present as I throw a hand up in the glass box, as the sheep start badging through the gate. Before I lost my concentration I saw something on the name tape. Foggy. Foggy? Really? I wish my mind wasn't in such a haze.

Head hurts again, time to stare at the deer.