Only Time Would Tell

Shadows of a dream haunt his waking moments. He remembers bits and pieces but fog obscures the details.

A twisted tree guards the gates of an abandoned sanitarium bits of broken glass reflect the lights of a distant city. Ragweed, ivy and overgrown rose bushes cling to the harden soil with the determination of an old time prairie farmer.

Inside hallways seem to twist and turn with a life of their own. Walls covered with artwork created by inhabitants long forgotten. Stairs climb into the darkness each step groaning like the bones of an old broke down mule.

A room from his past, out of place in these haunted halls. Childhood memories cling like spiders to the walls and ceiling. Dust from years past forms miniature mountains and canyons obscuring the carpet and burying the grape juice stain he had left behind so many years ago.

In the corner a bed abandoned stacks of Hardy Boy mysteries scattered upon the pillows and blankets. Yesterday's fingerprints formed from the remnants of ten cent Hershey bars. A flashlight working still after all these years points towards the closet of his nightmares.

However, as he draws closer the closet appears to fade into the distance.

Each and every evening the outcome was the same. The props and the scenery may change but in the end he would always find himself confronting this closet significance lost in the sands of time.

Why?

What was he repressing? Had he hid in the closet for some long forgotten reason? Had he been locked or trapped in the closet somehow?

The more he attempted to retrieve the memory the more the mists of time confused his sense of place.

Somehow, someday he would recapture the moment and attempt to open the door. His fear lay in the remembering. Would he be able to accept and face the contents of this abandoned closet? Or would the long repressed memories destroy the last threads of his sanity?

Only time would tell.