Gumi Reloaded: An AU RK Writing Community

A memory dump for Okita's lost memories until they can be recalled.

“Yamada-san . . . Yamada-san . . . Yamada-san?”

Ah, that’s right. That’s you. At least, that’s what they call you here, but it has never felt right. It doesn’t feel like you.

The man blinked, shook his head and smiled, “I am so sorry Kinoshita-san! I was thinking what a shame it was we couldn’t go outside.”

Kinoshita coughed and pushed his glasses up his nose, “Yes, well . . . if the pollution didn’t keep us indoors then the freezing temperatures would have.”

Yamada gave a thick and phlegmy cough as he stuttered out, “Hm the cold never bothered me.”

“Yes . . . anyways,” the man never knew what to do with Yamada; he wasn’t like the other inhabitants. He did not have the symptoms of heavy use and he seemed perfectly functional. That didn’t mean he wasn’t a user though. And if it weren’t for the fact that he had appeared suddenly, horribly thin, at death’s door, and unconscious he would never have believed the man to actually belong here. But he knew the man did belong, he had seen the scars. Scars that only a heavy user would have. Despite that, the man had no signs of use. He was getting sidetracked, “How are you feeling this morning? I see you combed your hair, that’s good! Do you remember anything?”

The corners of Yamada’s smile quirked, it was always the same question, “I remembered to wake up on the right side of the bed today.”

Kinoshita clicked his tongue and looked disapprovingly. “Yamada-san. I am here to help you. How can I do that if you don’t take these sessions seriously?”

Yamada blinked and then bowed his head, “My deepest apologies for wasting your time! I know you are only trying to help and have only the fairest of judgment for us.”

Kinoshita gritted his teeth, there it was the slight sarcasm and act. Who did Yamada think he was? The addict didn’t even remember his name. “Thank you for your apology, but how are you this morning?”

Yamada straightened his blanket, breathed in, and said, because why the hell not, “I had a dream last night.”

“Why don’t you tell us about it.” Kinoshita didn’t understand what the nurses’ saw in this man. His hair was too long, his beard and scraggly mustache did not really suit him …

“Someone is calling out my name. I can’t see their face, and I can’t really hear what they’re saying but I know they are saying my name.” Yamada popped an orange slice in his mouth as he took his time. The truth was, he didn’t really remember much from his dream. It was always the same dream though, and every morning he’d wake up completely frustrated at his uselessness. He was wasting his time here. He didn’t belong here. And every morning he woke up, he wanted to scream and cry. He didn’t, but the bitterness was there. When he decided he had kept the therapist waiting long enough (the man was starting to grind his teeth back and forth) he smiled and said, “What can I say? It’s a dream. The streets are splattered with blood,” the other patients shiver and lean in a little closer, “and you can hear the sound of metal hitting metal. Then, suddenly I am no longer holding a sword but a gun and it's gunfire not metal on metal.”

Kinoshita made a sound at the back of his throat, “What do you remember about this someone?”

“I can’t really see his face, but he feels familiar. Black hair? Narrow eyes? Too tall? Two arms? Two legs?” Yamada said as he tapped his fingers against his knee.

“Yamada-san, please be serious now!”

Yamada chuckled, “I don’t know what he looks like, but sometimes I am angry at him. He’s not always nice, but I know he’s a good man. It’s odd.”

"I think it is obvious. You are dreaming of yourself, and you are angry that you let yourself use. This war is a metaphor for every addict's struggle with addiction. Yes... I am sure that's it." Kinoshita smiled smugly.

“Yes, there really is a lot more we can unpack from this dream, but we don’t have time. Thank you for sharing.” Kinoshita smiled half heartily and turned to another patient, completely satisfied in his interpretation of Yamada, “Yamaguchi-san! And how are you this morning?”

Yamada didn’t care that the man didn’t like him. He was an idiot anyways (for some reason that made him smile), and he preferred it when the man didn’t talk him.

He was just about to lose himself in his thoughts again, trying desperately to remember every scrap of the dream, he felt closer this time, when another patient leaned in and said, “I believe you.”

Yamada patted the hand on his, “Thank you.” He then turned to look out the window.

He was getting closer. He could feel it. He wondered about the world beyond this place. Was there someone waiting for him to remember? Did he have people out there? Maybe he had nothing. After all, he had been here for several months. . . Was he better off not remembering?

No. He did not belong here. He could feel the restlessness in his soul. He coughed.