#1
This is part one. Ill probably write the rest tommorow.

9:59 AM, 3/14/1994

Water rolls off my face like marbles across a glass floor. My hair is drenched. My
clothes adhere to my skin beneath, but yet I don't move. My knees ache from being own on them for so long. My eyes no longer flinch when raindrops hit them; the water doesn't hurt anymore. My face is numb; paresthesia takes hold over my lips. I stare blindly into the grey clouds overhead. My head sending me signals that these clouds bring death. My senses have already failed me, why not accept the uncertain and unknown?
Droplets of water form at the corners of my mouth. My lips tingle, and my tongue tastes the salty excrement that pours from my eyes. So strange that the body wastes it's precious water in such an unnecessary and senseless way. But, it doesn't seem to matter now; I have more water than I could ever want.
I faintly sense something rubbing my shirt. Not only was I senseless, numb, and drenched, I was now delirious. God must have had a bad day today, and taken it out on me. I forgive him though; everyone has those kind of days. You can't stay mad forever. But there was that rubbing again. This time it was much harder. That couldn't be my mind mocking me. I demand of my neck to arch, to allow me to look down and around to see what it was that was jabbing me. I know it got my message, but like a stubborn child, it took many demands of it for it to obey.
Finally, craning my neck and slightly turning I looked for what was rubbing me. There was nothing behind me. I was going insane. My brain was playing tricks on me. I hope it enjoyed it's fun. My mouth wanted to smile, but the numbness prevented that. I could barely even feel the humor from the thought of my mind playing like a child with someone, so young and innocent. How ironic it was that my own brain, my companion for 27 years, would not let me in on the fun.
But, seeing as what kind of shape I was in at this exact moment, I would understand, too. So, I went back to staring into the clouds, hoping that by some miracle my overly-large head would act as some kind of lightning rod. Too bad I hadn't seen a single lightning bolt or heard any thunder. Just my luck. Nothing would surprise me now, I was so numb that any surprise would only feel like someone had just told me my name. Isn't that exciting?
What is exciting is what happened next. No nerve signals were processed inside my brain, no muscles flexed an inch, but somehow my body went from being on my knees staring into oncoming rain, to laying flat on my back (still staring into oncoming rain). Well, it certainly is more comfortable. That's what I vaguely thought. Until, of course, I saw what had hit me.
I felt no pain, nor did I feel anything at all. No surprise, as a matter of fact. That was a lie. I wasn't surprised at all as a shaggy creature hovered it's face over mine. It's fur was drenched like mine, but I could tell this creature didn't welcome raindrops leaving it half-blind. A long red foreign object intruded my proximity. It licked my face, but I couldn't feel it. It was vaguely warm though. It was like someone thawing out my head, because as the pinprick of warmth hit my skin, it suddenly felt as if I had stuck my head into a crisply light fireplace, located in a warm and inviting living room of a complete stranger's house.
"Doggy..." Was all I could whisper, my brain refused to work any harder, like a lazy cashier on his only day off in 3 months. How sad. It's reply to my word was continuing to lick me. If I could smell, it probably would smell like rotten fish that was fished out of a trash can in a back alley. But, luckily I couldn't. But soon, I would gain back feeling, as each lick from this mutt seemed like a can of Red Bull poured down my throat. My lips stopped tingling. My eyes started to flinch as the raindrops pelted them, and they felt puffy and drenched from all the tears I had been crying.
Instinctively, I sat up, shielding my raw eyes. My vision was a blur, but I could make out the brown outline of the dog siting loyally at my side. I sat there. And sat there. And sat there, and eventually, my eyes began to center, and my brain got off it's lazy ass and began pumping out some signals. The dog came into focus, and immediately I smiled. I'm not sure if it was the remnants of the last smile I was supposed to have, or wether the dog envoked such a joy in me. But, either way, the smile was a welcome change.
I stood, and the dog perked up. I felt like a newborn giraffe, so clumsy and unbalanced. I fell flat on my rear in the mud. Strangely, the pain felt good. It felt like a scraped knee being rubbed with alcohol. It was a good pain. With more grace this time, I attempted standing again, this time to more success. The dog was in front of me, like a mother bird watching over it's chick as it learned to fly. And as I learned to fly, taking confident steps ahead, the dog began to take the lead. I just walked behind it, wherever it went.
Soon, I was out of the park and onto the street corner. The dog walked boldly across the street, taking no notice to any oncoming traffic. I did the same, and felt no fear as I walked. The dog was leading me somewhere, but I wasn't sure. We traversed many streets, through woods, and over a bridge. I wasn't sure exactly where I was at.
But soon, the dog began to slow down, as if it were nearing it's destination. We walked down one last sidewalk, and onto a gravel road. Past brick houses, and a small trailer. It was like I was walking in a haze, not knowing how many hours or days passed, only walking .The dog was going somewhere, but I couldn't know where. I was zoned out.
But then the dog stopped. It turned around, and barked. I looked where we were. A two story yellow house stood in front of me. To my right was a blue sedan, parked perfectly aligned with the house. The house had 3 lights on, all on the first floor. Something was so familiar about this place... I couldn't put my finger on it. I looked around. A housing development. Fig street was what the street sign said. I turned back towards the house. 225 was spelled out on the front door in fancy lettering. Then it hit me.
This was her house. That was my car parked in the driveway. Suddenly, the door opened. And there I stood, coming out with a bloody butcher knife. I walked across the lawn, headed for my car, when I noticed a dog watching me. "Scram!" was what I said before driving off. What was going on?