Spiraling down into madness

I'm falling, falling, falling.

My sense of gravity has left me. I reach out for something, anything, memories screaming at me.

I brace myself for impact, landing on hard gravel ground, the wind knocked out of me. I groan a bit in pain, struggling to sit up.

If Asher's was bad, this is worse; in the distant, I see a tornado destroying everything in its path. Random numbers swirl around it, voices attached to it. I'm in an open field, dead grass flying around me, trees that have grayed and lost their colors.

I trudge along, searching, and looking for something.

A weight hits the center of my chest, knocking me backwards, and sending me flying . A figure appears, a dark blue shadow with crimson blood eyes, a black aura surrounding him. His appearance flashes and changes, each time I blink.

Finally, he normalizes, a withered man, with black spiked hair that has turned gray at the edges. A scar runs down the on the right side of his face, going down on the corner of his mouth. He wears a tattered black uniform, a strange symbol on the left side of his chest.

"Why have you come here? You don't know who you're helping-or dealing with." His voice is raspy and deep, sound like an ancient being.

My mark begins to shimmer and glow, extending outward, and down my arm. I hold my hand out as a weight settles into my palm.

Before it can finish, he lunges forward, yanking me by the front of my shirt. He's in my face, and I grimace; he smells of dead roses, and moth balls.

"You really think helping this man will be a good thing? You have no idea what's gonna happen in the future." He says, lifting me up.

I'm confused beyond comprehension; this thing isn't acting like how a trauma would. It's acting like its the own person, a possible real person.

My weapon glimmers in protest, my hand clutching it. It's a bow and arrow, and I slam it down at the top of whatever this thing is head.

He lets out a cry ins surprise, stumbling down on one knee.

I quickly notch an arrow, pointing it at his chest. "Who are you?" I ask, taking some steps back.

He blinks up at me, a slow smile spreading on his face. "Casimir, pleased to meet you."

I let the arrow go, it zooming as fast as the speed of light. It meets his target, driving straight through his heart. I wait for the burst of light, the banishing of the emotion, for the mind to turn back to normal.

None of that happens; instead he lets out a roar, hands on the end of the arrow, trying to yank it out.

The arrow seems to plunge deeper, it starting to glow again.

My eyes widened as it appears to be splitting his chest in half, and he throws his head back before screaming again. The scenery changes, flickering from a tornado scene, to a stormy night.

I throw up an arm in an attempt to stop from being flung into the depths of David's mind. Casimir's struggles weaken, until he slumps over, finally finished. The arrow pulses, once, twice, before dispersing his existence in small particles of light.

David's mind remains the same; a whirlwind of pain, and uncertainties; memories are flung at me like rocks, and I glance around. If Casimir wasn't the mental disorder, then where and what was?

My bow and arrow has disappeared, and I walk around, the grass sticking to my shoes and the end of my pants. The tornado has moved further back, and I squint.

Casimir has me thinking that David is planning something; as to what, maybe I could find if I searched through his thoughts, his memories even.

Dusting off my hands, I continue on, alert for anything or anyone. Something brushes my leg, and I glance down. It's a memory, faint but there. I pick it up by the ends, noticing that it curls like aged paper. Looking at it, it's similar to an old tablet, I take a closer inspection of it.

It's David, dancing for what appears the first time with Emilia. He's smiling down at her, pulling her close to his chest as they sway to the soft jazz that's playing. He looks happy there, and the background changes from a crowded room to just them two.

He is not the same man he is now.

I set the memory down gently, and as soon as it touches the ground, it vanishes. I search frantically for it again, but alas, it's gone.

My resolve has been set in stone; I've seen how David looks happy, I'm determined to bring that person back to life.

I turn on my heel, and run, eyes flicking from one spot to the other. I haven't seen a single sign of PTSD, or anything else; just a tornado, a dead field, and jumbled memories. As I'm taking more steps towards what looks like an aged barn, something slams into my back, making me lose my footing and falling on my face. Nails dig into the upper of my arms, my back, and hair, and I let out a startled cry of pain.

Whatever is on me feels heavy, cold, and reeks of garbage on s summer's day. I'm gagging and also trying to catch oxygen in my lungs.

Kicking out, my foot slams into something solid, shoving the thing back and off of me. Scrambling away, I straighten up, eyes locked on the thing.

It's a seven foot skeletal monster with a hunched back, beady glowing yellow eyes staring at me. It's mouth is a straight line, short pointed jagged teeth littering in there. It has no nose, just two holes as a nostril. Gray skin is stretched over its face, its arms dangling, and almost touching the ground.

I never thought that this is what PTSD would look like.

It takes a step towards me, the ground dying where it lays its footsteps. I can feel my heart speed up, as fear and adrenaline course through me.

This is the thing of nightmares, of David's nightmares.

It opens its mouth, screeching, and goosebumps trail on my skin. The sound reminds me of nails being dragged down on chalkboard. My mark starts glowing, the light shining brighter and brighter. I open my hand once more, and the light solidifies, darkening to a staff with a curved knife tip at the end.

PTSD hisses at the sudden light, lunging at me. Its claws hit my tricep, and I gasp out in pain. Blood leaks from the wound, and I wince. This thing isn't going down without a fight.

Swinging the staff forward, I aim for its legs, hoping for a clean swipe. It deflects it with it's long arm instead, and I end up slicing that in half. PTSD screeches in pain, holding on to the now missing arm. Shadows dance on its wound.

Since its distracted, I swipe again, aiming for its chest. The curved point of the knife goes straight into the chest, coming out from the back. The staff begins to go hot in my hands, and I drop it, ducking out of the way.

PTSD lets out another roar, my staff burning bright like lava. It collapses down to its knee, before exploding into an array of light. I sit up, breathing hard from what I've witnessed and heard.

His mind slowly starts retracting, changing from the storm, and dead field, to the front of his lawn. The sun warms my face, and I brush back my tangled brown hair, surveying the area. Flowers have popped up, a soft wind spreading the smell of roses, and blue bells.

I did it; a miracle I performed, and with no idea how, I managed to beat PTSD. I glance at the wound on my arm, all but gone, and shake my hands off, exhaustion hitting me.

My mark begins to glow gently, and I wait to be taken back out from the mind and into reality. A movement catches my eye, and when I look, I notice a small boy in overalls, a gadget in his hands. He waves frantically at me, mouthing thank you. I wave back, cracking a smile at him.

The light from my mark has swallowed me whole, and I disappear from his mind.