65 Frames Per Second

The year is 2011, and I'm lying with my back in the sand, my mouth stretched open and my belly sore from laughing. I trace shining constellations with my fingertips and I can feel myself suspended between everything I've ever known and everything I have yet to experience. It's my senior trip, and I'm intuitively aware that nothing will ever be the same again.

Suddenly, a pop splits the air. Followed by a scream that vibrates through my skin and pulls me back down from the stars. A recent graduate from our rival high school folds into the sand, her body limp as a rag doll.

The air thickens in my lungs and my vision blurs to to 65 frames per second. Waves crashing, more screams.

I register that there is a war erupting around us. We are under attack.

Before I can fully grasp what’s happening, my legs are propelling me away from the crashing waves, dodging motion blurred bodies, my sight narrowing in on the hotel, an illusion of safety.

Disoriented. The air like molasses. Legs in slow motion. What is happening?

Sensory latency is the time it takes for an electrical impulse to travel from a point of stimulation on a sensory nerve to a recording electrode. Mine is delayed.

Inches from the hotel I glance back. Across the beach, I see the familiar long blonde hair of my best friend buried under a mass of five men. Their fists show no mercy.

I run back into the war zone.

My arms are extended, reaching towards the girl I’d spent 28 seasons with.

The memories from that night are scattered, and dulled by time, but I remember seeing myself from above, like my mind had been pulled out of my body. Like I was witnessing, instead of living.

Theres a reality where I was able to grab her hands and pull her to safety... but in this one, I see the glint of a bottle and the weighted force behind it hurtling towards my head.

Then, everything goes black.

There is no time or space. Just darkness.