Past Life Syndrome

Sometimes I have strange nightmares. It's fair to say, we all have weird dreams from time to time, but these nightmares feel so real it's downright eerie. Nothing strange or otherworldly happens in these specific nightmares of mine. I know what a regular nightmare is like, because I've had them too. Ones where the world changes shape before your eyes, as you go from walking down a quiet road to suddenly flying like a bird, then you're sinking in a huge ship all of a sudden without even comprehending what's going on. These nightmares ain't like that, they're more like memories. I'm a world war 2 soldier in these nightmares, even though I know that's impossible as I'm only 13 years old and the year is 2001! Maybe it's all those shooting games I play, but even so, those titles are always set in the future, so why am I dreaming about world war 2 when I barely know a thing about history? I've never even played a historical shooter, or even watched a documentary about the war. All I know is the Germans fought the English and Americans for some reason or another. Yet, in these dreams I know everyone well and truly. My sergeant is named Jonathan Lee, he has a wide moustache coloured brown with speckles of grey. He is older than the rest of us, while Jonathan is in his early thirties. Our Corporal, Miles Parker is almost thirty, he is second in command of our very small squad. Just like Jonathan his black hair is getting slightly grey at the sides, he doesn't have a mustache though, looking closer to the rest of us. In these dreams I am called Private Charlie Soap, I don't know how I look as this soldier, as there ain't any mirror or reflected surfaces to be found in these war dreams of mine. My closest friend is is a ginger named Private Kyle Connors, I don't know his age but he seems younger than me, like a kid, perhaps some teen who faked his age to get into the army. I guess he's around 16 years old, maybe younger, I (as Charlie Soap) keep him in check and calm by constantly reassuring him. The last member of this squad is Private Ryan West, he is very distant and hard to talk to, like he's severely cell-shocked with a thousand yard stare, he has blonde hair that is greasy and dirty with mud and blood, although he seems young too. I feel as though he is slightly older than myself and Kyle, he looks around 25 so maybe Charlie Soap (my dream self) is between 21-23 years old. Sometimes we're all having a laugh, decent banter between the lad, even Jonathan Lee shares the odd dirty joke. We come out with things my parents would wince at, if they only knew the unsavoury things I've heard come from my squad mates. However the reason I refer to these visions as nightmares, is simply because most of the time we are at war! We're storming into buildings and shooting German soldiers, with huge guns that deafen your hearing. I don't know what's louder, the blood curdling screams of terror or the raw firepower of a rapid firing machine gun. I can hear every footstep, every grunt, even the wind itself while experiencing these nightmares. I've seen bullets tear a human head into bloodied mush, saw people (both allies and enemies), become mince meat as shotgun blasts batter their bodies into hideous gore. There are visions of grown men, cowering like scared little boys, as huge battle tanks come storming down the mountains. War is hell. I never really listened to my grandfather, who explained just how terrible it all was, perhaps the video games I played made combat seem fun, but it truly is not! It's agony, to shoot the trigger, or to be shot is both a cruel and awful thing. To kill anyone just feels despicable, even in self-defence. To get wounded by a gunshot (as Charlie Soap often did) is beyond agony itself, the pain is so unbearable you almost welcome death, just to stop the burning sensation that overwhelms your whole being. In these nightmares I see my war friends die. Jonathan Lee tries to be a hero and dives onto an active grenade, exploding through his stomach, splattering his bones and flesh all over us. Corporal Parker holds off a stampede of Germans racing into a crumbling building we have a stronghold over, he fires wildly, almost like an action movie hero, killing a few before getting torn to shreds himself. The last of us, Me (as Charlie), Kyle and Ryan charge upstairs to higher ground, we lean over a balcony and shoot down into the dark, we can barely see whose coming upstairs from down there, but we hear a few German voices scream as we shoot blindly into the blackness. I can hear bodies tumbling downstairs, even the sound of blood bursting from gun wounds, it's all so vivid and real I'm certain this isn't just a nightmare, but some real event from actual history. Ryan is braver than me and Kyle, so he leans over the balcony more and fires better than we do. Unfortunately he is shot in the head, a single bullet races through his right eye and he falls over the railing, screaming to his death. I throw Kyle into a small room and barricade the door.
"No, Charlie! Don't leave me!" He begs, banging on the closed door.
"Stay quiet and you might jus-"
I hear a loud bang, followed by blinding light. Then I awake from the same nightmare every night, where I supposedly die in world war 2 with Kyle's fate forever unknown. I started dreaming about this event last year, just before I turned 13, now I'm almost 14 and the nightmare continues. No matter what I do, I can't change the past. I can't save myself or any of my other comrades. It's like a movie you've seen a million times, perhaps a horror movie you dread because you know when everyone's going to die but you really love the characters. So it stings every time you see them fall, yet I can't turn the television off or stop watching, I'm forced to live through that hell, over and over again. It's not really scary, at least not anymore, it's more depressing if anything. If a dream is supposed to be nice, but a nightmare is meant to be scary. Then what is a sad dream called? A bad dream, maybe? I'm seriously depressed because of it all, I try to stay up as late as I can, often going into school too tired and irritated because my mind just returns to those terrible events. I don't know why, but it's driving me crazy and I certainly don't like it. Not one bit.

Five years later:
It's 2006 now and I'm 18 years old, everyday I feel closer and closer to Charlie Soap's age. It's developed far past that of a nightmare now. I know they are memories, because I've watched war documentaries that feature the battle I (as in Charlie Soap) was in. We were in Berlin, fighting against the Nazis who had taken over the city. Right near the end of the war in 194?. I can't describe how surreal it is, to see the black and white, faded footage of a nightmare I have seen in vivid detail since my early teens. It feels so long ago, long before I was even born, yet in my mind it's just like yesterday. Like the second world war is still ongoing and it's never going to end. Like my nightmares play the scariest war movie ever made, over and over again. Now that I'm an adult, I've decided to set out into the world to discover who I really was, as I don't just think Charlie Soap was a random soldier I dreamt about anymore. Because when I smell roses, I remember Charlie's wife, her name was Emilia and she had the most beautiful blue eyes, strawberry blonde hair that seemed to wave delicately in the wind. I have yet to see an angel that pretty, with my own eyes, as my 18 year old self. When I was thirteen I only dreamt about the war, but more of Charlie's memories began to pop into my head the older I got. By 15 I knew he was British (unlike myself as I am American) living the dream life of white picket fences, lush green lawns, fancy cars and he owned a big nice house near the sea of Cornwall. I've always pictured England as looking miserable, wet and grey, but in these memories the country somehow seems bright and vibrant. Maybe that's just Cornwall though, I hear it is beautiful out there. That's the first place I'm heading, it's where Charlie Soap once lived, my memories of his past are so vivid; I know exactly where his house was and how to get there. Sometimes I even drive on the wrong side of the road, because in my dreams I'm so used to driving cars on the left (as they do in the United Kingdom). With all that said, I genuinely believe I was Charlie Soap, that he was me in a past life. That maybe Emilia's still alive to this day, I know she's going to be old, older than my own ma or grandma, but I need answers and that's what I intend to find out. Perhaps Charlie Soap didn't die in the war after all? I really hope he's still alive, because then I'd know this is all just some bizarre psychic link between me and him. However if he is dead, I fear that everything I saw was my own past, haunting me still even as this American teenager that I am now. Could that mean I'll always remember the terrible war? Even if I live out this second life and live a third life, will I still be haunted by world war 2? God, I really hope that isn't the case.

So after several long, painful, stressful and mind numbingly boring hours of flights; I am finally in England. I was excited to be heading here at first, but the airports and security across the globe has been a nightmare! Now I'm in London and I couldn't feel any more miserable. I come from Miami originally, so the heavy rain and darkness of this place just seems so depressing! The people here aren't the posh gentlemen you see in the movies either, I can barely understand their rougher accents (my memories as Charlie Soap helps me understand them better though) and everyone seems to be in a rush. At first people treated me weirdly because of my native American accent, but I quickly adapted Charlie Soap's mannerisms and now everyone thinks I'm English too. Even then, people think I'm really posh and rich since Charlie sounded very sophisticated and some folks seem to hate me for that as well. I just don't fit in around here, being a lonely young man in such a big ruthless, alien city feels overwhelming and very scary. I'm beginning to think this was a bad idea. The Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, London Eye and London Bridge aren't very exciting in person to be honest. Maybe it's just the awful weather or misery of the city, but everything just feels so desaturated and dull. Very few tourists (except for a few excited social media influencers; over acting for the camera) leave the sites of these so-called wonders underwhelmed and confused. I even overheard an Asian boy ask his mother; "is that really Buckingham Palace?" Because he couldn't believe how much smaller and ordinary it appeared in person. It's fascinating what a fancy camera man who studies cinematography can accomplish, making such dull sights seem so much more amazing than what they actually are. I booked a hotel for two days in the city, thinking I'd love it here, but I don't. Oh well, I could do with a proper rest after all those flights anyway. Maybe the old city will grow on me eventually, but I doubt it. I'm thinking maybe it's just because I'm here alone, it might've had a better experience if I came here with family or friends; then this trip could've been fun. One good thing about being in England though, is that I feel closer to my past self, like I'm fully Charlie Soap over here, that my American past is almost forgotten. Is it strange that I feel more comfortable pretending to be someone who is either dead or old enough to be my great grandfather? Maybe it is. I'm just here to put things right, I don't know what that really means yet, but I'll find out soon enough. In three days, I'll be in Cornwall, then I'll get my answers. I only hope I find what I'm hoping for.

So now I'm in Cornwall, I did start to enjoy London a little bit, the English broads really digged my American accent when I visited a bar out of sheer boredom; I met one girl who really enjoyed my story (whether she believed me or not). I took her back the hotel for more drinks and finally got laid, but enough about that! I'm out of that city and now I'm staying by the coast of Cornwall. My first day here I just wandered around sight seeing, it is a wonderful place that is sunny and full of friendly residents who are far nicer than the city folk from London. Sorry for all the tour guides folks, don't worry I'm getting back on track. As now I'm heading to Charlie's old house.

It was a disaster! I got a taxi out to the old house and knocked on the door, eventually a middle aged man opened it and gasped upon seeing me. I asked him what got him so spooked and he said I looked just like him.
"who?!" I asked.
"My father." Replied Charlie's son, who was a well-spoken gentleman old enough to be my own father. Most of his hair was grey, with tiny speckles of black still left. He had short hair and an equally short beard, looking well groomed and sophisticated, just like how I imagined Charlie Soap to look. I was speaking to his son all right, there was no doubt about it.
"What's your business here?!" Mr Soap raised his voice suddenly.
"I- I'm related." I lied.
"You... Are?" He eyed me suspiciously, "how come we've never met then?"
"I only just found out recently, I've come here from America an-"
"Oh!" Mr Soap interrupted me, "so you're either some Mormon trying to convert me, or some dumb kid trying to prank an old man, is that right?!"
"No, sir, I-"
"Get out of here, or I'm calling the police!" Mr Soap huffed, then slammed the door in my face. I didn't challenge his authority, a man like that ain't afraid to get the law involved. I let out a defeated sigh and walked back down the hill, it seemed this whole trip had been a waste of time! Meeting Charlie's son seemed to confirm that he was still alive and not dead. So perhaps I'm not the English soldier reincarnated after all? I've got an idea, it might be stupid but there is a war memorial in Cornwall not too far from where I am currently staying. It could be worth a shot, visiting the area to see if Charlie Soap or any of my other squad mates from world war 2 were found dead or not. That's my next stop.

So here I am. There is a big wall with names of soldiers engraved into the white marble stone. Nearby; there are a few statues of war heroes holding different guns or in the act of saving others. It feels me with a certain sense of pride. Even though I am an American, I can still respect the British armed forces for their part in both world wars. Victory was a joint effort between allies from all over the world. So I thank them! Dearly. Unfortunately my worst fears were confirmed. Charlie Soap's name was engraved upon the war memorial, alongside Jonathan Lee, Miles Peters and Ryan West. Yet Kyle Connors name was strangely absent. I quadruple checked to make sure I hadn't missed his name, it most definitely wasn't there. So that confirmed it, as if I wasn't already uncertain; Charlie Soap had in fact saved Kyle Connors from death, sacrificing himself in the process. My dreams of the war were true, I really was a saviour and nearby I was dead (my old self), buried in the grave yard behind the war memorial. I cannot describe the sudden sense of existential dread I felt in that moment, only that it was a surreal experience of loss and dissociation with myself. It was like losing a son. Or maybe a father. Perhaps even worse than that, like I had lost a part myself entirely. A life I could never get back. I cried, my legs fell before me like jelly. I broke down and was an emotional mess! My vision became a blur of tears as I just screamed in sorrow and horror, knowing nobody on earth could possibly understand this feeling of losing your past self. I was alone in this torment, knowing that not even my own mother or father could possibly fathom the tragedy that came with such soul crushing news; it was lonely. Which only added to the misery of my personal trauma. I calmed down eventually, wiping the tears away from my eyes; I stood up and walked back through the grey heavy rain, which seemed to match my sadness and tears. As if God himself was taunting me, almost like I had summoned a storm with my weeping.

I searched far and wide, through phone books and multiple internet searches; until the whereabouts of Kyle Connors were found. He had been living in a care home for the elderly. It was weird to imagine that young, scared ginger kid as some old pensioner. Yet, that was the strange reality I had found myself in. Now I was the young one, the guy I had looked after, like he was my younger brother was now decades older than me and that was a very bizarre thought to process. I found his care home, it was coincidentally in Cornwall too, so I didn't have far to travel. I got there and the caretakers asked who I was, I lied. I told them I was family. They were very skeptical and wouldn't let me in, not even my Charlie Soap impression helped. So I did what anyone desperate for answers would do, I snuck in. Through the fire exit, I crept in when one of the nurses was leaving to go home. Then I even went so far as to steal a caretaker uniform and blend in, keeping my head down so nobody would recognise me. Of course some people did and I said I was simply new there. They all believed me, although some thought it was odd they were never informed. Nobody was suspicious enough to stop me though. I watched the elderly here throughout the day and saw Kyle Connors for myself. It was a harrowing sight. His facial features were the same, his nose, eyes and mouth were all in the same place, but his skin was saggy and wrinkled. His ginger hair had become a light grey, even his once bright young eyes were much darker and almost black. He looked cell-shocked, as he was a war veteran, likely suffering from PTSD. Somehow I understood what he went through, I had seen it in my dreams every night, like he had too. I avoided eye contact with Kyle though, I didn't want him to recognise me yet (as Charlie Soap's son had). Simply because I had no idea how he would react. I needed to speak to Kyle one on one, privately. That was the only way I could truly get the answers I wanted, although I wasn't entirely sure what questions I had left. I knew my old self had died, knew Charlie had a son and considering how well I made love to that London girl, I remembered how to please a woman too. Really, I should've just left, gone back home to America and let sleeping dogs lie, but I was foolish. I kept digging until I disturbed the past too much. That night, I ventured into Kyle's room unannounced. He recognised me instantly.
"No!" He gasped, "it can't be, no! No!" The old man stammered, cowering under his bedsheets, "you're d- d- dead!" Kyle stuttered, "I saw you! You saved me. Then I came out and I saw what those Germans did! They blasted you to bloody pieces! I carried your remains... All the way back to... To my..." He suddenly looked lost, as if forgetting where he was. I gulped, frozen to the spot.
"Yeah, it's me." I replied, speaking in Charlie's voice.
"You're a ghost!" Kyle barked, climbing out of bed, then he grabbed a crucifix from his bedside drawer. When Kyle aimed it at me like a gun, my eyes stung! A blinding light emitted from the cross!
"Cut it out, Private!" I barked, desperately trying to take charge.
"Foul beast, die! Die! Die!" Kyle screamed, pressing the crucifix closer towards me, my forehead began to burn, like I was a Vampire exposed to daylight.
"Please..." I begged.
"The power of Christ compels you!" Kyle roared and with those words I spat up blood, my front tooth fell out and I suddenly felt as old as he was. Overwhelmed by frantic terror, I spun on my heels and bolted through the door I came in from. It felt like my hair was on fire, my vision was blurring with tears, I screamed, fleeing down the dark corridor, waking everyone up! I raced towards the exit and ran for miles, not once looking back until I arrived into town. Hundreds of people were looking at me, like I was some sort of horrifying demon. I looked into the window of a nearby car and saw my reflection. I looked monstrous. My skin appeared badly sunburnt, red and already peeling, but my eyes were entirely pink and bloodshot. My grotesque veins still bulged from the pain I had just ensured. Beyond the agony was a terrifying realisation; I wasn't always Charlie Soap, I was the ghost of him, possessing the body of the teenage American I currently inhabit. I don't remember doing it, but I must've stolen this body from its rightful owner. I wasn't reborn. I had stolen this vessel. I was the monster you fear in horror movies. Then I remembered when I was 13, that's when these nightmares began, I was invading that poor boy's mind, until we became one. Both of us merged together into a symbiotic personality. I regret coming out here to great Britain. Sometimes you're better off not knowing the truth.