The Moment Come and Gone

The sense of something that may have happened and may have taken place, not like a dream or a flashback. Not like the moment you remember what happened on a certain day and at a certain time. It may make the hair on your neck stand up. The memory will be vivid and then fade away.

You start to recognize the scent of perfume or the sound made or even the music that you hear in the distance as you see a familiar face and sigh or want to reach out, the moment is then dimmed and then lost.

You walk around in a daze, and you stop to see if the memory is once again in order to resurface, but the harder you try, the harder it is to recall. The woman in blue is near you, but she has the wrong hair color. The man is close, but he is shorter than you. You feel the warmth of the rain as it starts out a light mist, then becomes a downpour. You then piece the memory together with odd, shaped thoughts and then you are wishing and wanting the moment to become a reality.

You stop at the corner market; you stand near an owner who sells only the one kind of fruit you truly love. You buy various items to make your favorite meal, the meal you once shared with the love of your life. The moment is shattered by a blaze of gunshots.

You drop behind a stand selling balloons, reach to retrieve your weapon and then searching for the one who was shooting. It is nothing more than fireworks exploding and you feel a sigh of relief. You scold yourself for being so paranoid. While holstering your weapon, you rise up to see that others had done what you did.

The distant sound of jazz music cuts into the now silent air and you start to proceed in the direction you were heading before your thoughts were interrupted.

You reach the doorway where the vendors booths end and buy a peach. Peaches you noticed have a calming effect on your gitterning nerves and you move forward in a cat like grace, watching the trees on the street pass you by until you arrive at the entrance to your apartment building. You are greeted by the doorman, Alfonso, and then tipping his open hand, walk into the lobby of the Ritzer.

You head to the row of payphones that line the east wall of the building. You retrieve coins to make your call. It rings then is interrupted by the answering machine. Oh, Thelma is screening her calls again. You wait patiently. You thump your fingers, hearing a tune start to make sense while you wait to leave a message announcing your arrival.

The message that is heard, the tone of the one speaking the message, lovely Thelma, finally ends and you start to leave your message, someone picks up. The voice on the other end is her roommate Sylvia.

Sylvia has a sexy, husky voice, like a lounge singer. You asked to speak to Thelma, and the silence is long. Someone picks up the receiver, and you state who you are. The voice on the other end is a male voice, and they sound angry. You hang up quickly.

Rushing to the elevator, pushing all the buttons, eventually one opens up and you run into it. Your fears of what happened before are flooding back across your mind and you have nervous flashbacks. The same sight you had seen on the night Deniece was found shot. The crime scene was a bloody mess, and you were left, to the present, without any answers. No evidence to point you in the direction of the killer, no useable clues, nothing that would lead to an arrest.

You wake up suddenly. You scream and are covered in sweat without any part of the sheets being dry. You then realize you are laying in your own bed with a bottle of Jim Beam and cut marks on your arms. "Had you tried once more to cut yourself or was someone playing tricks on you?" You reach for your holstered weapon, but nothing is there. Then your eyes adjust to the darkness and see finally you are in metal room, with a metal bed, and not much more to speak of.

You see you have been detained and are being held over for questioning. You try to move even slightly. The restraints on your wrists and ankles are a sign that you have been constrained. You won't be able to move no matter how loud you scream. The agony and pain are too much to bear.

You fall out of the bed and are now aware that the past nightmares are there. But you are free to move around the room, to go down the hallway of your building, to make a phone call. Dr. Deaigner is the one you call. No answer. You try once then twice more. The longer you try to call, you know you will get the same answer.

The moment blurs into another scene. Totally different, with shade of blues and grays blending into each other and then parting way.

The scene returns to when you were walking down the street, looking for items to make a special dinner and to celebrate the passing of Deniece. You were the first on the scene and you were one who had to identify the lifeless body that laid across the bed, in the master bedroom.

You were standing in the middle of the block. You were reaching to buy a peach and realized you were being asked to pay for the one you had just eaten. You were not sure why you were there except you retrace the steps taken, to relive the moments you were happiest and the memories were so vivid you thought you were part of the past.

Cops are approaching you slowly, guns drawn. You drop to your knees slowly. You know this procedure very well. As the lift you up, moving you to the waiting squad car, you notice a drop of blood on your shirt, then several more. Then your chest explodes outward, as the bomb strapped to your vest detonates.

You wake up and see the bars above in the open window and you feel the cool breeze blowing into the room, the one you knew was without any light or even a way to escape.