“The night terrors and cold sweats happen every night Dr and every psychiatric med I've taken either makes me a walking zombie or gain forty pounds or I can't stop peeing. I can't live like this anymore.”

Lena reached across the leather sofa, grabbing her purse. Rooting around the pens, gum, old receipts and lipsticks, she found what she wanted. Pulling out a cigarette from the wrinkled pack, she started to light it.

“No smoking in here please.”

Reluctantly placing it back in the pack, she tossed her purse on the floor.

“Ok. Fine.Whatever.” She pulled a two rubber bands out of her pants pocket. Slipping one around her long black hair in a quick ponytail, the other around her wrist, snapping it twice.

“Helps with the cravings and the crazy. So listen doc I’ve been coming here for months and nothing is really helping. I’m at the end of my rope. These vivid dreams about decapitation, and death and a sense that I don’t belong. I need help. Now.”

“It might be time to try something a bit more radical. I think we still need to focus on talk therapy, but are you open to drinking a tea, here in a controlled environment? It’s perfectly safe.”

Lena leaned in and looked at her psychiatrist with a quizzical stare. “What kind of tea?”

“It’s an herbal teal mixed with the proper dose of psilocybin.” Pulling up her chart on his tablet, he continued. “I have all of your medical history here so I am able to add a tincture of micrograms of the solution. Many of my patients have been able to unlock their issues much sooner. I must be transparent with you, it may take more than one event to really do anything.”

“What are the side effects. Hallucinogens are dangerous. Lots of my friends at university had really bad trips and flashbacks.”

The doctor smiled. “I’m sure they were using the wrong dosage as a recreational drug. This will be medically induced and controlled.”

Lena leaned back into the plush leather couch. “I feel like I’ve tried everything else. Lets do it.”

“Fantastic. Relax here and i’ll be back in five minutes with your tea.”

As soon as the doctor left, Lena started having second thoughts, but as a writer and producer, she always had the ability to try new things. she was all about risks.

Her doctor returned as promised with a steaming cup of tea. Lena tentatively took the round ceramic mug and inhaled the fragrance. Blowing on it, she took a few sips. Blowing and sipping she finished the drink quickly.

“Now what.”

“Just relax. I’ll ask you a few questions. What year is it?”

“2021.”

“Who am I?”

“Dr Gelfsten.”

Lena tolerated similar inane questions for an hour before she ended it.

“Dr, this is going nowhere. Aside from a small green halo around your head, nothing is happening.”

“I understand your frustration. Let’s try this again next week, same time?”

Lena agreed and grabbed her purse and headed home. Retrieving her phone from an inside pocket of her purse, she noticed a text from her friend, Anna:

WELL, ANY LUCK WITH THE HEADLESS DREAMS?

Chuckling, she responded:

YOU THINK A CITY KNOWN FOR SHRINKS AND SWEETS LIKE VIENNA WOULD BE ABLE TO HELP!!

Pushing her phone into her pants pocket, she walked on to her apartment. Once inside she grabbed a bottle of wine, a glass and an ashtray and got ready for a night of nothing. Or so she thought.

Opening her eyes to the sound of birds chirping, the surroundings did not feel quite right. The bed was made of carved wood and was monstrous. Brocaded draperies filled the multiple windows in the room and scattered throughout the room were sumptuous dresses of aquamarine, red and canary. To her right was a bed stand with a gold pitcher and basin, and to her left, an open jewelry box filled with enough splendid rings to rival a hungry pirate. Smiling to herself, she thought. Well, this is one helluva trip.

“My Lady, my Lady. Please. We must get you dressed. The King is on his way here. Please!!” A stunning woman in a white silk dress with long flowing sleeves and one of the oddest hats she had ever seen, was shaking her.

“Lady Anne, please. We don’t want to anger the King.” Pointing to the array of dresses she asked. “Lady Anne, would you prefer the red one. The King does enjoy seeing you in red.”

Lena was so mesmerized by the situation that she could barely form the words.

“What year is this and who is this King you keep mentioning?”

“My Lady Anne, it’s the year of our Lord, 1530. And the King is his Majesty Henry VIII. Are you quite well madam. Madam, can you hear me? My Lady, my lady.”

Screaming loudly she attracted the attention of the other women in the chamber. Grabbing one of them by the arm to help.

“Fetch the doctor quickly. Tell him Lady Anne Boleyn is ill. Hurry!!”

“This is a horrible idea, Katie,” Eva said quietly, glancing at the pendant her best friend was waving around wildly.

“Oh, shove off, Eva, it’ll be fine!” Katie grinned, shaking the necklace. “Hopefully your past life is connected to this thing in some way, otherwise it won’t work… eh, let’s try anyway.”

With Eva glaring at her, Katie began to swing the necklace to and fro like a pendulum, murmuring vague phrases under her breath. She watched her friend carefully as she swung the old piece of jewellery. According to her dad, it belonged to a great-great-aunt Alice, who died aged 14 during the Blitz. Her brother had saved it, somehow, and so here it was.

Katie thought that starting with a WWII life would be the best idea, but she didn’t expect Eva’s eyes to go wide at the sight of the necklace, or for her to start yelling.

Eva never yelled.

“Why do you have that?” she snapped, eyes flickering between a bright green and brown, neither of which were her eye colour. Katie let the necklace drop to the floor, stumbling back in surprise.

“It’s my… it’s a family… holy sh*t it worked!”

Eva glanced around, eyes still flashing colours they really shouldn’t be. Her voice, Katie realised rather belatedly, was the same, which made no sense.

“No, no, no…” she whispered, gazing around wildly, staring at things that weren’t there.

And then she screamed, and Katie’s world seemed to turn upside down.

“ALICE!” Eva shrieked, coughing on smoke that wasn’t there, shielding herself from something that wasn’t there. “No, no, you can’t be dead. Not yet!”

“Eva!” Katie yelled, cutting off choked sobs that made no sense, trying to stop the strange colour-changing in her friend’s eyes.

The brown changed over to grey, and Eva hurriedly brushed the tears away, holding herself in a strange manner that almost screamed upper-class, and Katie swallowed.

This wasn’t meant to be happening at all.

And… Eva had known her great-great-aunt? Eva herself?

Her voice should have changed.

But how could her best friend also have been the best friend of a girl long-dead?

“Nothing happened.”

“Well, remember, this is not an exact science. It can take a few, maybe even a dozen sessions before your body and brain learn how to accept hypnotism.”

“But I’ve already been here a number of times. I’m starting to think this is a scam. You’re just trying to get me to pay—“

“I tell you what. I won’t charge you for this session. How’s that? Fair enough?”

Brian stood up. “Yeah, I guess. But, I mean, I would really like to know if it’s real. The past lives thing. I hear people talking about it, and, I don’t know, it’s sort of, I just want to know.”

“I understand. But remember, in spite of what you see on television, not everyone was Cleopatra or Elvis. Most people just lived regular lives, did regular things.”

“I know,” Brian said, grabbing his coat from the rack and opening the door, “that’s what I’m curious about. If it’s true—if hypnotism can really help me look back into my past lives—I would hope for that. To see into the mundane everyday. That seems more interesting to me, more important.”

“True, true. I only wish more people felt the way you do. To see the beauty in the simple things. Until next time.”

Brian walked along the street, the wind picking up, causing the rain to mist his glasses. He forgot his umbrella again. He wiped them clean, only to have the process repeat itself, his vision never quite clear, light distorted through liquid and glass.

At home it was the same Hot Pocket and Budweiser while he flipped between Jeopardy! and ESPN.

A sharp pain hit him, likely indigestion from his chronically terrible diet. He sat up, the pain feeling like it was in his chest. He made a note to get antacids before drifting off in his recliner, the blue lights of the TV bouncing off his glasses, the Hot Pocket and beer unfinished.

The weeks were all the same. Coffee. Toast. Bus. Work. PBJ and Mt Dew. Work. Home. Hot Pocket and Bud. TV. Bed.

Each week he dared to dream that the session would be different, that he’d see into a past life. Each week he threatened Professor Mundrake that he would stop coming. Each week Professor Mundrake told him about how it was never a sure thing, that hypnotism was an art in which both parties had to be fully present and willing, and that past life regression could be amazing and enlightening, or it could be haunting, dim, terrifying.

Each week he came back.

It wasn’t that Brian was unhappy, he just wasn’t happy. There was no tangible thing he could point to that would fix it. If he felt lonely he could get a date. If he was bored he had friends. If he wanted adventure he could afford to travel. Nothing in his life was missing, except for everything. Nothing was real; Nothing mattered. Everything was simply there, like his life was a Wal-Mart of memories and experiences, filled with people and noise and smells, where people wandered in and out but he could never leave.

He had done well in school, but had no desire to go to university. He had done well at university, but had no desire to work. He had landed a good job, but had no desire for a promotion. He loved women, didn’t want to marry. He loved children, theoretically. He didn’t even have a dog.

He just… was.

So, for $75 a session, four sessions a month, he saw Professor Mundrake and tried to gain understanding into his past lives in the hopes that something was there, something that would explain why he never quite fit into his own personhood. Why he always felt he was watching his own life through someone else’s eyes.

Monday again. Time for the next session.

He knew the routine.

“I want you, this time, Brian, I want you to really let go. To really try to understand what’s happening, what the process is. I want you to let go of yourself, to let me guide you. Remember, you cannot relive the past, not really, no matter what the latest charlatans on YouTube might claim. It is not a possibility. All you can do is observe. I feel you, Brian, I feel you resisting, wanting to take control of the process, but you must let me guide you. Believe me, you wouldn’t want it if you could have it: Reliving the past. The past is not mailable, it is permanent. So, you must stop resisting if you want this to work.”

“I know, professor,” Brian said, reclining into the soft leather chair. “I know.”

“Can you imagine? Well, no, I don’t want you to imagine. The idea of reaching that state, to be stuck reliving the past, it is the stuff of nightmares from which I do not know if I could even bring you back. But, no worries, it’s only theoretical and cannot happen. So, shall we?”

Brian relaxed, listening to the soft, soothing voice of the professor as he guided him into semiconsciousness.

Into a state of being and not being.

Asleep but not asleep.

Into…

“Nothing happened.”

“Well, remember, this is not an exact science. It can take a few, maybe even a dozen sessions before your body and brain learn how to accept hypnotism.”

“But I’ve already been here a number of times. I’m starting to think this is a scam. You’re just trying to get me to pay—“

“I tell you what. I won’t charge you for this session. How’s that? Fair enough?”

Brian stood up. “Yeah, I guess. But, I mean, I would really like to know if it’s real. The past lives thing. I hear people talking about it, and, I don’t know, it’s sort of, I just want to know.”

“I understand. But remember, in spite of what you see on television, not everyone was Cleopatra or Elvis. Most people just lived regular lives, did regular things.”

“I know,” Brian said, grabbing his coat from the rack and opening the door, “that’s what I’m curious about. If it’s true—if hypnotism can really help me look back into my past lives—I would hope for that. To see into the mundane everyday. That seems more interesting to me, more important.”

“True, true. I only wish more people felt the way you do. To see the beauty in the simple things. Until next time.”

Brian walked along the street, the wind picking up, causing the rain to mist his glasses. He forgot his umbrella again. He wiped them clean, only to have the process repeat itself, his vision never quite clear, light distorted through liquid and glass.

At home it was the same Hot Pocket and Budweiser while he flipped between Jeopardy! and ESPN.

A sharp pain hit him, likely indigestion from his chronically terrible diet. He sat up, the pain feeling like it was in his chest. He made a note to get antacids before drifting off in his recliner, the blue lights of the TV bouncing off his glasses, the Hot Pocket and beer unfinished.

The pair of six year-old girls giggled wildly sitting on the back porch. Two tall glasses of chilled lemonade sat forgotten between them.

The day was overcast and humid, and the low rumbling sound of a summer storm brewed in the distance. But the threatening sound didn’t phase the girls.

“Yooouuu are GETTING sleeeeeepy,” the one called Sarai chanted, dangling a long silver necklace before her friend’s round, onyx eyes.

The giggling began anew and Rosalie’s tight, dark mass of curls bobbed as she shook. The ground shook too; somewhere, lightning struck.

Sarai cried out, “Be serious, Rosalie! Watch the necklace or it won’t work!” She sucked her lips through her teeth to keep from laughing again. “You said you dreamt of being a princess! Let’s find out if you once were.”

The pretend doctor swung the long chain side-to-side, and her patient, Rosalie, obeyed, tracking the sapphire pendant dutifully. This chore went on some minutes until their tiny squirming bodies grew still as two lovely little dolls—Sarai focusing, and Rosalie unfocusing.

Rosalie’s mouth dropped open in a wide yawn. Her eyes glassed over.

Thunder cracked, lightning scored the sky, but only Sarai startled at it. A fresh, violent wind pushed through a stand of old maples at the edge of the yard, whipping branches this way and that.

“Uh-oh. We’d better go in!” Sarai pulled on Rosalie’s arm. No response. “Oh—,”she cried above the storm,”—that’s right! When I snap my fingers you’ll—,”

But her last words were drowned in thunder. It pealed angrily above, and the little girl screamed and fell. “Rosalie!”

Rosalie blinked. Then blinked again. She blinked like an owl, slow and unaffected. She turned to Sarai sprawled like a rag doll next to her, and her brow furrowed deeply.

The sky lit up blindingly. Sarai pulled her glowering friend by the arm, across the deck and through the set of french doors, slamming them shut to close out the storm. She doubled over and heaved great sighs.

“Phew! Rosalie! That was close.”

To which Rosalie replied something indecipherable. In the rich, deep voice of a man.

Sarai petrified on the spot. “R-Rosalie?”

Her friend shook her head violently. “Gustav!” She pointed to her chest to indicate her name. “Gustav!”

Sarai couldn’t move; the blood drained from her limbs, leaving her stuck there like a tree stump. She watched as Rosalie sauntered about her living room, muttering more strange words beneath her breath. She watched as Rosalie disappeared into the kitchen.

It was the sound of clanging pots and pans and rattling utensils which finally made Sarai move.

“Rosalie? W-what are you doing?”

“Gustav!” Came the short, impatient answer.

Rosalie had the fridge and pantries hanging wide open—milk, flour, sugar, eggs, butter, trays of fresh-picked berries, and slabs of meat and cheese dotted the counter.

Sarai tried to put the things back, swiping one or two at a time but was greeted with the newfound temper and strength of her friend. She was pushed out, again and again, until the two sparred with wordless shouts.

Finally, Sarai gave up, slumping mystified onto a counter stool, staring like a stunned deer at the busy chef in her kitchen.

Rosalie continued to mix and stir, beat and toss, whisk and pour, while belting out a foreign song in baritone. The tiny chef worked furiously in clouds of flour, balancing dishes and spatulas expertly in her little hands.

Sarai’s awareness returned enough to remember her mom weeding the garden outside. She’d go get her! And stop Rosalie’s madness!

But tantalizing smells wafted from saucepans bubbling on the stove and cake pans cooking in the oven. The chef handed her a large spoon coated in melted chocolate, and with a gesture encouraged her to eat it.

She was too curious to leave now, licking the spoon and delighting in taste.

Rosalie-Gustav arranged her dishes on the table: a bowl heaping with savory meatballs and a side of berry sauce, cheese sauce dribbling over pasta shells, a deep pot of steaming stew, sticky chocolate cake, and a stack of buns bursting with cream.

The girls feasted wordlessly, exchanging laughs and contented sounds instead—until they were so full, the tiny chef tipped sideways off her chair and hit her head in the ground.

“Ugh. Why do I feel so sick?” Rosalie moaned, sitting up dizzily.

“Are you really Rosalie?” Sarai asked, in disbelief.

“Yes, silly! Who else would I be?”

It was supposed to be harmless college experiment. She had told her study mates what to do if something seemed off. Hypnotic induced sleep was supposed to be for the weak minded but through several days of straightforward research it was possible if it was voluntary,almost a meditation type of hypnosis. It started as a bet between the friends,wether or not past lives existed. This led to arguments about genetic data,picked over so thoroughly in the way only nerds could accomplish,and then they asked their one of their professors-a dna analyst-if there was any proof of past memories being somehow trapped into genetic sequencing. We’re not talking about spirts being transported from body to body. That’s a fairy tale. We’re talking about primal instincts and evolution. The hair on our arms works almost as early warning triggers,when we notice that odd tickle on your arm and you look to notice a spider the size of a half dollar. Why we unconsciously sleep with our heads away from our door so if we wake up we can immediately scan the room for any danger. Flight or fight response. There were stories of wise men in India that could meditate for so long they claimed they could see visions of a past life their “old spirit”. Or perhaps an ancestor? The professor told us that there wasn’t much solid research in that particular area and,being curious, recommended we build up enough evidence and bring it up to the rest of the class. So after several cosmetic tweaks to one of the empty classrooms,now filled with cushions and blankets,dim lights and for some reason a small bowl with a goldfish frolicking in the waters. Apparently it was supposed to be a mini koi pond? Because she was supposedly the “Philosopher” of the group it was decided she would be the one to meditate and “Channel her inner Buddha”in the wise words of her roomie. Her head buzzed with questions but eventually,sitting still for so long,trying to convince herself to clear her mind,she fell asleep. When she woke up she was still sitting upright in her meditative position “cris-cross applesauce” and she didn’t feel the slightest bit rested. Of course,falling asleep while in the middle of a project. Her team was going to be mad at her. Mad wouldn’t even be the right word. It’s fine though,they had another three years to figure it out. She picked up her watch from where it had been sitting on a pillow and had a sense of deja vu. She ignored it until all of a sudden she realized it wasn’t a watch. It was an old timepiece. A bronze timepiece connected to a chain. Startled she blinked and when she looked back it was her watch again. Her cheap little black digital watch set with dozens of little alarms for her classes. If she set them on her phone she knew she would just ignore them. Turning them off on her watch was too much effort for her to ignore. Snatching up her satchel...purse. Her purse. Anyway the girl opened the door and put her shoes back on as her study group bombarded her with questions. So what was it like? One boy asked. He was painfully thin an only came up to her shoulder despite him being a year older than her. Nothing. What? He was sure he’d misheard her. He placed money on this experiment. Nothing. I sat and a got bored. And when I “came to” it was time for algebra. Excuse me... She told them as she squeezed through the crowd. She was already late as is. It wouldn’t hurt to stop by the cafeteria,right? Her throat was parched! As she stepped up to the cafeteria doors she noticed two cops standing there speaking to the dean. There she is now. Pointing at her. The two officers stepped forward. Polaris Mainwaring? She nodded mutely,a strong sense of deja vu and dread settling in her gut as they assumed funeral faces. And then they explained. The accident. The fire. Their dog,Bear,was still inside. Her father ran inside,her mother on the lawn. The fire reached the gas lines. They weren’t up to code. The house blew. Her mother was in the hospital with severe burns. It was all so familiar! The girl struggled to process the news,bothered by her buzzing head. And then it stopped. They stopped talking. Her head stopped spinning. This happened before. In another time. Another city. Another life. Every life. A fire. And she was always safe. September of ‘65... January of 1847... they always died. And she was left standing...alone...not knowing what to do next...

It was a DIY-Kit for $5.95, half-price at the liquidation sale at a shop nobody thought would ever fail. But who goes shopping anymore when we can get anything we want with a click of a button. But he still felt sad, it is never good when a feeling of nostalgia finally dies. Why he bought it, he really didn’t know. Was it to give the proprietor’s family a bit more time to keep feeding themselves. Maybe that was it, maybe he was a softie.

The kit sat on the coffee table that whole week, he picked it up and fumbled it often as he chose to work on the couch instead of in his home office’s broken chair. On Wednesday he had opened the box, there was a tiny pamphlet no bigger than his thumb and a tiny computer chip held in thick plastic. The selling point for it all was well thought out, it came with a silver plated medal made out of recycled iron clasped to a chain. The medal had an all-seeing-eye wide awake and carried in a pyramid exactly like the one on an old one dollar bill. It must have been fun to use coins and paper money long, long ago. Just that was worth the $5.95 he thought to himself.

On the back of the box were the four instructions with a large sunburst design in yellow and words in orange: IT’S EASY!

On Friday night he still didn’t have a date, so when he had sent the last email and clicked his laptop off until Monday, he popped open a cold brew and sat staring at the coffee table. Besides the crumbs from his hurried lunches that week there was the box turned on its back revealing the instructions, the chip now unwrapped from its thick plastic shell and the silver medal which caught the light from the window as the sun went down.

He swigged the beer along his gums, held it fizzy for a moment on his tongue and then swallowed. He placed the chip on his forehead as he was instructed. There was a slight itch as it burrowed under his skin. He picked up the medal on that chain, he let it sway back and forth as he watched. Then he repeated the words on the box, it made him remember the rhyme on the cereal box as a kid when he had discovered the decoder ring lost in rings of rolled wheat. But this time the rhyme was very different:

When was was when Are you you are Was when were you No you no I To me are you Past I are you

He felt a slight warmth spiral from his forehead. Suddenly he was in a shop, a shop full of people delighted to look at gizmos and gadgets. There were words floating of “Welcome”, “Good Day’, “Thanks for coming by and buy!” “Come again!” There was the sound of coins jingling and tapping as they hit the sales counter, a ring of a bill as the old cash register opened, the crinkle of sacks and bags as all sorts of things were placed therein. Even a question, “Would you like that wrapped as a gift?”

People spent time wandering from shelf to shelf. They talked with one another. They joked. He saw it all, he was the one who owned that shop. An eight hour day, days of delight Monday through Saturday. With only one day to rest, but who needed to rest when each hour was fun. He saw boys and girls buy their first purchases for themselves for others who were having birthday parties. He saw them grow, knew them all by name. They came in with their children and grandchildren until one day, it all stopped. The tiny bell on the door rang only once or twice. Then maybe it was quiet for more than a week. Sale signs filled the windows, were taped to the shelves. Then clearance in bright orange letters. Then all in red: liquidation.

He felt the cold tip of a gun next to his head. A loud bang unlike any bell on a shop’s door. There was a searing pain as the chip dislodged from his head and a last echo:

This was my life, glad you shared. Now no more.

The shock lasted for a few minutes. He needed to feel better. He got online. He began to click and click. The orders would be there on his doorstep in the morning. Shopping always helped him feel so much better.

I have always been fascinated with past lives and wondered who I was, as I am famous, a Princess, a Witch, a Mermaid or a Fairy or just some regular person in history which be boring. I had been interested in the many ways you could find out who you were in a past life and I’d been searching. I had gone to VooDoo doctors, Witches, and all manner of wonderful and exotic people but they all told me something different and it was never anything believable and they all charged so much.

I was walking out of my latest psychics shop, this one was sworn by my sister to be an authentic deal. I was about to cry all she had told me was that I would find what was looking for when I stopped looking for it, my answer would find me.

I could hardly see where I was going and almost fell over a man at bottom of the shop's steps. I’m so sorry I kept repeating over and over. He was a very nice man who helped me to my feet. Didn’t find your answers in there? You probably never will all they are, are a bunch of frauds intent on taking your money. So, what is it you are seeking their help for? He made me feel at ease his voice made me want to tell him anything. I apologized again for bumping into him and started to walk away. Before I got too far he put a business card in my hand, maybe I can help.

I sat at home thinking about the conversation with the man with the soft soothing voice. I wanted to hear it again. I took the business card out of my pocket and read that he was a psychotherapist and among the things he did was hypnosis. Maybe he could me. I made the phone call and spoke to the receptionist. She took my information down and I asked if she needed my insurance information. She giggled and asked me what on earth was that.

Now that I thought about there had been some funny things going on and smells and the way people dressed, but I could just be hallucinating still from the VooDoo doctor's potion he said it would last a few days. The next morning I went to the office and was looking around and the town looked like something out of one of those wild west movies. Where was I and how did I get here? I was even dressed like one of the fancier ladies. I walked into the office and she offered me tea.

When I went into his office he asked me what I had so desperately looking for? I told him that my time I had been looking for my past life and I guess I must have found it because I was now living it, but I want to go back. He said would see what he could do. He put to sleep or hypnotized me and I woke up at home in my bed in 2021. I am messing with that past lives or VooDoo stuff ever again.

I began seeing Ms. Fantima after I suffered a TBI ; in hopes that she could uncover some memories of mine through hypnosis. To my delight and utter confusion she did her job as she described, she unlocked my inner self. What she unlocked though wasn’t me, at least not the present me. I started getting these weird visions that I was on the Trail of Tears with the rest of my tribe. The kicker? My DNA results if I were to get them tested would show that I’m 99.0% European, the rest of it is just garbled nonsense. You see my point though, weird that I would even have any sort of thought about this event in history. I started to tell Ms. Fantima about my visions and how I felt that I was going crazy but I didn’t want to sound nuts. I had a 401k, I had 2 children who depended on my income for college, and a husband who just couldn’t catch a break in this job market. The point was, I couldn’t afford lapse in work. I could barely afford her sessions but I put them on the emergency card, Tom doesn’t know about that one so it should be safe.

    The visions grew stronger each day. I was on my morning jog when suddenly the hot scorching sun, beat down on me with such force my legs weakened. I heard moaning coming from behind me, in a language I did not comprehend but I knew exactly what they were saying. It was such a strange feeling, the words had no meaning to me now, but in the vision I understood them, they cried out for me to “honor them” and “never forget”. I looked down at my smart watch, my heart rate was 146bpm and I could feel my pulse in my gut. I took a break and rested against a tree that was guarded by the mid afternoon shade. Screams of pain bounced around my skull like some sick and twisted headache. This headache wanted to be heard, the dead wanted to be heard. I shook my head, Ms. Fantima must have drugged me or something. There was no way any of this was real. I was hallucinating, my heart rate was 146bpm, I had to focus on what was real. I had to focus on the facts. I looked down at my watch, 89bpm. Wait, how is that even possible? I was just almost hyper ventilating a second ago I could have sworn. From my BPM and lack of sweat on my skin I was convinced I hadn’t even started my run yet. The sun bore down once more with blinding light, a figure ahead of me. It appeared to be a man, a little taller than average and wearing a cowboy hat. 

     That’s odd, but not as quizzical as the hallucinations. After all, we were in upstate NY, somebody was bound to wear one of those hats. I took a sip from my water bottle and continued on, clicking my heels against the cement sidewalk, counting each line to clear my head. The shadows danced across the foliage as I made my way back to my house. Tom was asleep when I got back, he looked as if he took too many sleeping pills again. He hasn’t found his comfort level for sleep yet since the crash. I looked at him, sound asleep, not a worry in his mind. I envied it, but I knew he was trying his hardest. 

      I cleaned up our bathroom, the tiles were aquamarine and white and the walls a sandy grey color. I chose the bathroom design, it was the only room I had a say on designing. Tom insisted the house flowed, he suggested our house could make us feel something. All I felt when I saw our junk of a property was regret. I never intended to live in the city, I wanted a ranch style home and here we were with a duplex right next door. The showers warm water pressed against my skin like a fuzzy cat snuggling up to me. I LIVED for my showers, the only time where I could think straight. 

  A splash of water to the face to rinse off the shampoo that dripped down, potentially stinging my eyes if I weren’t careful. I knew the routine though. I opened my eyes, all grey for a moment and blurry. “You lied to us” someone shouted from behind me…

I always wondered what my life was in the past. Ever since I was a little girl I’ve been fascinated by people who remember small details of there past, and I’ve always wanted to make a profession of it. But life gets in the way of your dreams, so instead I became hair stylist. I decided that today I’d finally figure out my past life, so I’m getting a hypnosis done. I walk into the building and wait for my appointment time. “Casey Bennet”? The woman calls. I get up and go to where my hypnosis begins. As the session begins I get more sleepy, and into my unconscious state of mind. As she speaks of life I start to remember small details. I see abandoned old buildings all around me, then I hear something that sounds like someone screaming. I see a man in the same clothing as me, all black, grabbing an older white man and throwing him into the back of a truck. I don’t like what I see, I want to wake up. “WAKE UP DAMNIT” “ WAKE UP” Shit. I feel someone shaking my shoulder, but it’s not my hypnosis doctor, I’m still in the past. It’s the man that’s my partner, who’s name I found out is Elliot. We shakes my shoulder and tells me, “Case get out of the goddamn trance, we got the governor. Lets kill this sick bastard and get out of here”. That’s when I realized what my past life was. I was a motherfucking hit woman.

Hannah is, a quirky lady. She is always researching, learning more about the world, and all it has to offer! She’d recently seen an advertisement for a local therapist, who was offering one free session of hypnosis to enrich your mind by seeing your past life. Hannah is scheduled to meet with her tomorrow and honestly can’t wait! “What an exciting adventure, and who knows where it could lead!” The rest of the evening, Hannah can’t sleep a wink.

The next morning comes and all she can do is wonder who she was!! An important person in history?? An majestic animal?? Only time will tell. She arrives at Candace Browns office, filled to the brim with a mix of excitement and nerves. “Hannah? Welcome sweetheart!! Please come in in!”

Hannah follows Candace to her office, then sinks into a plush suede couch and helps herself to a Hershey’s mini in her candy dish labeled “For my patients🙂”

“I’m so excited to meet you honey!! I’m pretty new and just trying to expand my practice. Thank you much for giving me a shot and if you’d tell you friends, I’d be ever so thankful! So you get comfortable. Find a position you feel good in and let’s begin!” Candace grabs a pocket watch and begins to speak. “You are in a safe place Hannah. Try to clear your mind, just keep your thoughts calm. We are going to let you glimpse at your previous life. Once I countdown from 3 you’ll be completely entranced. 3…2…1”

Hannah’s eyes pop open, unsure of what exactly is happening. She looks at her surroundings, taking it all in. It seems she’s somewhere warm, and quite sunny. She has on a pale yellow dress, with ruffles on the sleeves. Feels her hair clipped up and a bonnet covering her forehead. She looks for more clues and sees only houses for miles, many people congregated before her eyes. It seems she’s part of one of the first settlements coming from the Oregon Trail..