“She'd died and come back four times, and each time something small was…”

A dark vision within a dream scattered away like cockroaches off into the corners of my already opened eyes. Another seizure. The familiar phantom cold sweat. A static to my limbs and the notion that far too much time had passed. I moved my arm to sweep my matted away hair from my face. To get a look around. But there were people staring at me. Huddled around and pointing. At me. But then I too found myself staring. Since when did everyone have a third nostril?

I blinked, willing every neuron to make it go away, praying that it was my postictal state, or a dream.

Still, potent yet unfocused sensations swirled around my mind — fuzzy images, vague scents ... Were these memories? Clairvoyance? Omens?

The aroma of Stieno’s Pizza Palace drifted back to me. Nothing else seemed to matter—only getting my hands on an oily slice of thick cheese. Without a word I slipped out and made my way to the neighborhood staple. Greeted with warm smiles, I ordered a two-topping surprise. Sitting alone in the corner booth, munching my pie, I realized I’d forgotten about everything else—- and somehow, that was okay.