Bullet (Short Story)
WARNING!
Before you proceed, please be aware that this short story mentions (with varying degrees of involvement):
=> War
=> Suicide
=> Blood
=> Death
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This was written toward the beginning of 2018, requested by my English teacher. I've learnt and improved a lot since I finished this, but it's special due to the fact I've managed to complete it among other reasons. Please enjoy, and any feedback and/or corrections would be greatly appreciated
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B U L L E T
a short story
Everyone here tells me that this is a gift, a blessing... I tell them that it is a curse.
I always have, and I always will. How does this even happen? Why? What's the point?
The teachers in school have talked about history consistently ever since I discovered this side of myself. They're trying to be subtle with it, I can tell, but they're failing miserably. They just won't stop doing it though. It's almost as if they're worried about disrespecting me by ignoring who I am- was.
I've always wished with all my heart that I could be normal, and honestly, why can't I? Why did I have to be the one that has someone else sharing their brain? Did I have to be the one that freezes at least once a month in the middle of school lessons while memories that I shouldn't have ram themselves into my head?
Reincarnation is an odd topic. It's a rather sensitive one for me, and the reason why is clear.
I am a reincarnate, which is exactly why I'm sitting in the waiting room for a therapy appointment my parents forced me into.
The point of this isn't clear. I've handled the whole reincarnation thing well enough on my own for a long while, why are they getting me to seek help now?
Granted, I do have nightmares, and I would be lying if I said they weren't consistent, but it's been happening for years on end now. At least half a decade, starting when I was nine years old.
My (late) older and only sibling committed suicide. It's been five or so years, and it still sends shivers running down my spine.
Reaching my hand out with a cry of pure terror, tears streaming down my face, as my brother took the old gun he'd taken in secret from my father, turned it on himself, before he then pulled the trigger.
His last words had died in his throat and were instead something resembling a gurgle as he hit the floor, hard.
They sounded something like, 'Sorry, bro.'
I'd screamed, but not just because he was dead. I remembered someone else holding a gun to the skin over their heart as they dropped, dying, uttering the same words.
I remembered something else, too. A war.
That was the day I remembered what I was. A soldier who had served in war. However, my name remained locked away.
The guilt I felt was overwhelming, as my parent's focus was taken off the newly dead, suicidal boy that was my brother, and was instead placed on me. My family spent more time worrying about me than him. I, or maybe we, didn't let them grieve in peace.
Ever since that day, flashes of a war long over have infiltrated my sleep, with gunshots and the screaming of terrified soldiers drilling themselves into my head. I have no clue what that war was or why it was even fought, but I wake up screaming in the middle of the night because of it more often than not.
I was snapped out of my thoughts about this whole thing when a feminine voice called out my name.
"Jacob Shrasten?"
I stood up and headed to the owner of the voice. My parents stood to follow as the woman who'd called me asked, "Would you like them to join us, or should they wait out there?"
"We will join you," my father said. His voice was calm, but it hinted finality.
"No, you won't" I shot back. My voice was firm, and I met the gaze of my father. It was a short, silent showdown, but my old authority I once held (over who knows what) was showing. My father was forced to sigh and back down. That was thrilling, but it somewhat terrified me. Other people described him as someone you couldn't question once he had decided on something, and I'd just proved them wrong thanks to my reincarnation.
That's seriously scary.
My eyes were once again focused on my plain black shoes as I entered the room. That woman was about to attempt to pry my secrets and personal struggles I'd never shared with anyone except my closest friend out into the open.
Letting my parents see it would be unacceptable ... for me, at least. I hate most aspects of reincarnation, but I was once an adult who kicked ass with my fists, feet, and a gun. I can handle myself well enough- I have, and I did. That's probably the other half of why I fought back.
The therapist and my mother shared a glance, shrugging shoulders before the latter turned away, heading back for her seat.
My father stared at me for a few moments, shaking his head with a small, disappointed frown, but he too headed back to the waiting room.
The therapist and I settled onto the seats waiting in her therapy room. There were four couches, various amounts of seats available on each one, arranged neatly around an average-sized glass coffee table. I ensured that I was opposite her, as far away from her as I could get on the couches. I went a bit further and subtly pushed the couch back a bit.
"So, Jacob," She started. "I'd better introduce myself. I'm Rebecca."
I nodded absentmindedly. The place was so silent, except for Rebecca's voice. I couldn't help but detect a subtle accent in her speech, but it was covered up so well that I had no chance of figuring out what said accent was.
After realizing that I wasn't going to respond, Rebecca said, "So... I've been told that you are a reincarnate."
"Mmmm," I hummed lowly, fixing my gaze on the center of the coffee table. There were delicately made grooves and rises that were making a pattern, and I began to occupy myself by following the individual lines using my sight.
"When your mother called last week, we were informed that you need assistance due to your reincarnate..." She paused, and I guessed she was searching for a good word to use.
"Um, due to your reincarnate condition," She finished. Rebecca had been sporting a supposedly warm smile ever since she'd closed the door, and it was yet to slip, despite her small spot of uncertainty.
I suppressed a snort of laughter- that was likely one of the worst words I've come across that people have used to describe my situation. Instead of stating this or correcting her in any way, I simply murmured, "Is that right?" With a raised eyebrow. Open disdain and uninterest about this whole thing were written clearly all over my face.
I sighed quietly, before stating firmly, "They're stupid to seek help now."
"Seeking help isn't a bad thing, Jacob," Rebecca smiled, with that same old horribly warm smile. "There's nothing to be ashamed of when seeking assistance."
I couldn't help but just focus on that smile. Why isn't she changing her emotions, even at least once?
Is it fake? So many things in my life appear to be fake to me. I shouldn't be here. I should just be Jacob.
I'm a fake.
"You've misunderstood the point," I shot back, my eyes becoming steely. Her reassuring words held no value, and it sounded like she had not realized that I'd added the word 'now'.
"Then do enlighten me," Rebecca said, now intrigued as she leaned forward a little in her seat. I stared at her, not doing anything else.
"I realized that I was a reincarnate when I was seven," I said.
"And I've been told that you've had nightmares ever since your older brother committed suicide," Rebecca added on.
At that, I gritted my teeth, despising how she'd said that. It was as if she was just brushing it off.
"That's true, " I said, almost silently.
"Jacob, please, open up a little," Rebecca coaxed. "I can't do what I've been asked to do if you don't cooperate with me."
"I'm not going to cooperate with you," I replied firmly, curling my hands into tight fists. I relaxed them, before doing it again.
For the first time, Rebecca's smile faltered.
"I've been dealing with memories since I was seven, and I've been handling the nightmares since I was nine," I snapped, not bothering to even attempt holding back my annoyance. "Years have passed, and I've found some methods that work for me," I continued. Kind of, I added in my head, but I dared not say it out loud, knowing she'd use it to try and pull me back into the whole therapy thing.
"So, Jacob," Rebecca started to try again. "What do you think about reincarnation?"
"It's stupid, and it should never have come into existence," I said, balling my hands into fists again.
"Jacob, reincarnation is a-" I knew what she was about to say, so I instead cut her off.
"Curse."
Rebecca's smile faltered again. "Jacob, you must understand that reincarnation is a blessing. It's a chance to do things over, fix mistakes. Live a better life."
"Sorry to burst your bubble, but there's no way in hell that's true," I growled. "Do things over? Do things exactly the same. I had an older brother in my past life. He committed suicide too. Chloe died again. She was the best friend of Jemma and myself in my past life too. Next thing you know, I'll get pulled into a random ass war!"
As I said war, I slammed my fist down on the wooden edge of the coffee table. Rebecca was surprised at my outburst, but she still attempted to speak.
"Jacob-"
"Fix mistakes?" I continued to rant. "Any mistakes I made are set in stone by now! I can't go and fix them! I don't even know who I was, how am I supposed to find out what I did wrong? It's in the past! I can't go back and undo the war, restore the lives of any mates I lost! What do you think I can do, woman? Time travel? No, I can't! Get outta that uneducated hole of yours and realize that!"
I couldn't take the smile Rebecca was still trying to maintain. I couldn't take the quietness of the room anymore. Therapy was stupid.
I stood up and walked out of the room, and down the hall. Rebecca got up and started to follow me, and that's when I started sprinting. My parents got up as well when I emerged into the waiting room, and so did the receptionist, but I paid them no heed and barged through the front door.
In the street, there was a calm breeze blowing, and cars whizzing by on the road. I took a second to observe it, but then noticed mum and dad were about to follow me (And it looked like Rebecca was debating helping), and so I started running again.
Sprinting along pathways and dashing across roads to reach the other side, I got looks from several people in all directions. Some suspicious that I'd done something, some concerned, some just plain weirded out.
I eventually slipped into a side street, diving into the shadows. Quickly, I turned back the way I'd come, before starting to watch. I saw my dad's car going past on the streets. Actually, I wasn't sure if it was Dad's car, since I didn't get a good glimpse of the passengers, and there are more than one of dad's kind of car (Especially with the same colour) in town.
I then started frowning, the realization of what I had actually just done hitting like a truck.
Whipping out my phone, I checked the time. 1:00pm. Glancing back out at the street for a brief second, I composed a text to Jemma, asking if I could go to her place, and sent it.
I leaned against the wall, sliding down it so I was sitting. My knees were drawn up to my chest as I took my earbuds, which were stashed away in the same pocket, and inserted them into the headphone jack on my phone.
Going back to the home screen, I put on some music to play through the earbuds, before starting to read some books I had saved away on my phone as I waited for Jemma's response.
Jemma's eventual reply was short, only saying that she and her parents were very happy for me to visit, and that they'd tell my parents where I was.
I only replied with one word- don't.
Standing, I slipped out of the street, out of the shadows and into the regular crowd. I kept my music playing into my ears going as I walked.
Thanking the fact I'd chosen to wear a hoodie that particular day, I pulled its blue hood over my head, more or less closing myself off from the rest of the world.
I kept looking down at my phone, continuing to read, even as I walked. I would keep looking up so I could see where I was going, but for the most part, I was happy to let myself drift off into the imaginary world books offered me.
That's one reason why I read so much. It's an escape from the world, and I can just forget my reincarnation struggles for a bit. That alone is bliss.
I ended up passing my house on the way there. I looked at the garage, only to find that my parents still weren't home, which meant they were likely still looking for me. At that realization, I began to speed walk to Jemma's house, determined to avoid getting caught. I didn't want or need my parent's attempts of comforting (and lecturing) me right then.
They're the ones who dragged me to therapy against my wishes. Yeah nah, that didn't do stuff for me.
"It was hella stupid," I muttered to myself, knocking on the door to Jemma's house, while removing my earbuds from my ears.
Jemma was waiting for me at the door to her house. That wasn't very surprising. Her cheery face, however, almost immediately morphed into a concerned frown when she saw my face- a concoction of clashing emotions and contradicting thoughts.
She pulled me inside in a rush, holding my wrist firmly, but not so tight that it hurt.
"Are you okay?" She asked in a tumble of words, demanding answers. "What happened? Why can't your parents know you're here, you Smol Bean?"
I managed to crack a small grin at Jemma's little nickname for me, but her utterly worried expression wiped it off as fast as it appeared.
"Uhh..."
"Why- my go- Jacob, you're crying! What happened?" Jemma then asked, attempting to brush some of the freshest tears away, however, it only succeeded in making a streak of wetness along my cheek.
I reached up to brush away a few tears myself, only then realizing that I actually had been crying.
"I'm fine," I said, trying to convince myself of just that. Jemma sighed and lead me to the living room, our feet silent on the carpeted floor.
"Was it the therapy?" Jemma asked. I'd told her via text that my parents had forced me to go to therapy as soon as we pulled up outside the building.
I nodded, and the realization of how much Rebecca had (somehow) affected me hit me like a truck.
"I told them that it wouldn't do any good," I muttered. "Why couldn't they just listen for once?"
Jemma's mum peered into the room. Upon seeing me, she offered me a friendly smile. "We were... just about to eat lunch," she said. "We'd be more than happy for you to join us?"
Her smile was quickly returned. "Thank you."
Jemma, her parents and I sat around the television to eat lunch. I'd get asked a few questions, and I would answer them, but most of the time I was mindlessly pondering over the whole therapy thing.
What was it that had blown the fuse? Her ignorance must have been part of it. How it felt like she didn't give a damn, how she tread so carelessly on my brother's suicide.
Someone who was supposed to help and understand telling me the same words that have been repeated to me time and time again for seven years, and those words were the complete opposite of the truth. It was as if she wanted to force that into being my belief, and then everything would be freaking fantastically fine after that. That smile of hers that didn't change.
Fake. Fake help, fake promise, false hope.
Or something just made me be an oversensitive, bratty prick.
I wish I could believe it was the latter, but the former held much more truth for me.
The day passed by fast after that. Without my parents around, I wasn't feeling smothered, if that would make sense. I felt a bit lighter. I wouldn't go back. At least, not yet. I'm more or less scared senseless to go back and see what they'll think of my actions earlier today.
They want to help, I knew, and their intentions are good, but I couldn't put up with their attempts anymore.
My parents had been bombarding me with messages, spamming me with worried texts and phone calls I hadn't picked up- or responded to, in general.
However, I opened my texts and selected one of my parents randomly.
Don't worry about me, I typed into the box. I hesitated, wondering if I should add anything else, however, I just shrugged and hit send.
Hardly any time went by before I got a reply. Like I expected, they had demanded to know where I was.
I frowned, before replying; Somewhere safe.
Immediately, I proceeded to mute both of my parent's phone numbers.
That night, the plan was for me to sleep over at Jemma's house. They were seemingly giving me space, but at the same time, they were treating me as if I was a normal person. That, I was grateful for.
My thoughts drifted back to the therapy session, but that promptly lead to me pondering over reincarnation- something I believe that I do too often.
My brothers shot themselves. The two girls named Chloe died from bullets. They all got shot. My reincarnate was shot. We all got shot-
I never finished thinking that sentence, for that must have triggered a switch, and memories rushed in like a wave, overwhelming my senses.
Hostile group-
Weapons, war-
Death, loneliness-
My name screamed out like another blow of the gun.
Bullets cracked through the air, someone yelling my reincarnation's name echoing in my ears.
"Jacob!"
It was Jemma, I'd recognize her anywhere. She was so far away.
Bullets rain down.
I faintly felt and heard the thud as I hit the floor.
Bullets ripped through flesh.
Everything seemed to revolve around bullets, and the realization somehow had enough power to send my world (and my senses) into perilous chaos.
The window was broken, but after a second of staring at it, it wasn't. The window flickered to being broken and not again and again. Jemma was by my side, yelling something in a frantic voice to her parents as I lifted up my hand, which had been resting on my abdomen. It was coated in blood- my blood, and sharp cobwebs of agony held my stomach.
I thought I felt something resembling the barrel of a gun resting on my other hand, and that just fogged my mind even more.
What was the real reason I was getting rushed somewhere, with people attempting to keep me conscious?
What was even real anymore? I couldn't tell.
Thanks a lot, reincarnation. You and your bullets.