un: good morning

The sun peeked over the apartments on the other side of the street, its light bright and clean. Richard Gabourel stepped out of the imposing brick building, let the heavy fire doors swing behind him, and smiled at the sky. He could just picture the day outlining his torn, ragged suit, exposing the bruises and dried blood to the world.

Cool air, bright, vibrant existence, it was all so different from the nightmare that ended for good with the heavy click of the doors shutting. Not caring where he went, he began an easy, confident walk right. Flashes of memory would fill up his vision occasionally, as if his brain refused to let him forget it.

He woke up to the harsh, burning glare of a fluorescent bulb above him. It took him almost a minute to realize that he was lying down. Almost two more had elapsed before the realization that he was strapped down dawned on him.

“Is he awake?”

The voice scratched his ears, not because it was rough or grating, but because all of his senses were on edge. A pain so intense, so overwhelming split the top of his head that he thought he would pass out. He clenched his eyes tight and bit down hard, the muscles beneath his cheeks tightening with the pressure.

Walking past a coffee shop, Richard caught the curious and worried glances and stares from many of the patrons; eyes peering over newspapers or pupils leaning far left while the face stared straight ahead. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what he looked like- but he felt amazing.

A park appeared across the street to his left, and he watched as children clambered over the twisted green jungle gym, their high-pitched voices shrieking with joy. Parents both cautious and otherwise occupied sat on the benches on either side; some with their hands loosely clasped before them, never looking away from their offspring, and others chatting with friends, seemingly ignoring the fact that their children were hanging from the bars with their legs, trying to pick up their Hot Wheels cars in the sand.