The Deserter

I wake up in an unfamiliar place. A bathroom, but not one I’ve ever seen. I try and turn on the faucet and water drips out slowly. Drip, drip, drip. Then, I hear it. Shrieks, wails, all insurmountable.

This place is something out of a nightmare, but I know I’m not sleeping. I look out the tiny mildew stained window. Thick, dense fog covers the streets below the apartment I find myself occupying.

There is an idea that keeps pounding into my head. Where am I? What caused this? Where can I get my next cigarette?

The voices won’t stop. Won’t let me sleep, even if I tried. How do we truly know we are dreaming? Mirrors, reading, finger through palm, trust me I have tried all of that… The constant screeching outside the window won’t stop. Scream after scream after scream. I don’t dare open the door outside. I’ll take my own hell inside the shithole. Lord knows what is happening out there.

All I can remember is my name. Harry. Just Harry? That’s not important. What’s important is figuring out how I got here and how to get out of the damn bathroom. All I know now is my breath smells like cigarettes and old whiskey. Almost like I’m some old noir detective.

I scrounge around trying to find the lights. I hear music coming from the apartment besides mine. Loud, crass jazz. I hate jazz. My mind is racing with thoughts. I need to escape. After a minute or so, I finally manage to turn the light on. Im met with a grotesque, hideous man looking back at me in the mirror. Looking at that makes me want to vomit up the whiskey and cigarettes I had for dinner last night….

I hear a loud bang from another building, I feel my brain leak out before I notice anythings wrong.

Harry got shot. He was trying to run away from some pretty bad things back home.