It was the nightmare again. I was a boy, no more than fifteen, running through the streets of New Orleans’ St. Bernard’s Parish, only minutes from midnight. I was running as hard as could; as fast as I could…I was running to save a life. No, I wasn’t trying to save my own life, but rather the life of a man I had been convinced into believing that I loved; a life that would be extinguished at the stroke of midnight. It was August, which meant the moon was as big and bright as a spotlight. It shined down on the slick streets, which were still wet from a flash rainstorm that had come and gone not more than thirty minutes earlier. The rain brought forth smells of the city…the age, the decay, the spices of hundred lifetimes, the sickly sweet perfume of the night-blooming flowers…all wafted about on the night air, like the stench of some strange aromatic symphony. It’s funny how the senses seem to heighten in a dream. My heart pounded in my chest as I ran; the sweat pouring from my forehead. I had to make it! I had to stop him! I reached the front of the house only to find the door locked. “Martin!” I cried out, beating my fists against the wood, but I was drowned out by the loud music coming from within. “Martin!” I called out again, the tears starting to stream down my cheeks. I looked at my watch…11:59. There was still time. I could still stop him. I ran around to the back of the house and found that the back door was also locked. Without thinking or hesitating, I punched my fist through the glass, reaching through and unlocking the door. My hand was slick with blood and I could feel tiny shards of glass moving beneath my skin, cutting into the muscle, but I didn’t care. I had to reach him! I had to stop him! I ran through the kitchen and down the hall towards the bedroom; a journey I had made so many times after school, and on weekends…anytime I could steal away, actually. I should have known it was wrong, after all, I was a mere child and he was a man…my guidance counselor at school, truth-be-told. But God, it felt good to be in his arms. I felt safe and wanted. I should have known it was wrong, just like I should have known a suicide-pact was wrong….just like I should have known I would never be able to go through with it and take my own life. The ignorance or youth is astounding. The alarm on my watch sound as I reached the bedroom door; it was midnight. I flung the door open and was almost immediately deafened by the blaring music…it was the song Greensleeves. It was our song. “STOP!” I screamed at the naked man, kneeling on the floor with the barrel of a rifle filling his mouth. I could never be sure, because he was facing away from me, but I do believe Martin looked up milliseconds before he pulled the trigger, and saw my reflection in the mirror. But it was too late; the deed had been done, and there was no turning back. Blood and brain matter sprayed me as the back of his head exploded, and his body jerked backwards. He lay there, twitching as the pool of crimson quickly covered the floor. And then he was still. It was at that moment I started screaming.

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