The next thing he knew he was flying.

The teenage boy was no longer held in place by the soil and dirt that rooted his cleats to the playing field, his eyes were no longer captivated by the mother blue jay that had landed on a large branch just beyond the rusted grey fence to feed her famished chicks, for he had closed his eyes and winced at the sudden impact of the hard, round object hitting him square in the forehead. His catching glove went flying off his hand, shocked from force at which the ball had been thrown. The boy's throat felt horse as he gracefully fell backwards, his movement sluggish and late to react to the pain and shock he had just endured.

Then a shock, a terrible tremor that rattled his brain and broke his bones, his eyesight went black as he faded away into his confusion.

When the boy awoke, a welt the size of Canada greeted him, sagging over his left eye socket blocking half of his vision. The boy lifted his hand to touch it, but then instantly withdrew due to the sheering pain and radiating heat it gave off. When the boy stood it shook just as much as his legs, both trembling and shaking.

With his good eye, the young boy looked around at his surroundings. He had been lying down under a dim street lamp in a deserted town, its cobblestone roads showed no signs of aging.

The buildings were wooden and stood tall and proud against the clear black sky above, and not a light appeared in the windows, nor did any star dare to shine in the blanket that had smothered this street.

The boy took a hesitant step forward.

The buildings suddenly came alive, in unison all the lights flicked on, and each door swung open as if to greet him.

Gulping, the boy bravely took another step.

A spotlight appeared to his right, in its glow a tall street sign stood proudly, the boy had to squint to read what it said.

Memory Lane it read in green neon letters, the boy read the title aloud to himself, surprised by the dryness in his voice. "Memory Lane."

All of sudden the spotlight turned off and the world went black again, the boy, sweating and trembling with fear tried desperately to figure out what had happened to him.

"Where am I?" He yelled in a wheezing voice, "who am I?" The boy just couldn't remember, his mind felt empty as he searched its contents and panic swept through him.

Oh Lord... This is a dream, this is just a dream, and if I imagine myself waking up I will! That's how dreams work right? In a sudden impulse, the boy pinched his right arm.

Another spotlight appeared, and a crimson red door stood in front of him.

With nowhere to go, the boy grabbed the golden doorknob and slowly turned it to the right.

When it couldn't go any farther he carefully pulled it back.

Something was going on inside.

The tall person stood in grayscale, his gaze casted to the side as he stood in his gray baseball uniform. His black and white rimmed hat was in his right hand and his dull catcher's glove on his left, revealing his long colorless hair that casted over his eyes. A small, white name appeared on the backside of the door.


"Is that me?" The boy asked to the darkness.

No reply.

The scene played out inside the doorway.

Suddenly a small, white flying object charged at the boy, its rounded surface aimed at his unprotected scalp.

In seconds the ball came in contact with his head.

The glove when flying off, the boy went flying back, and his body roughly came in contact with the rocky ground.

Then the scene went black.