Circus

It's not a circus, it's a carnival. There are 34 stands here. Each step in the blinding sun makes me nauseous. I don't know where I am but there is a dog. He's just walking around a restuarant. EPIPHANY! The Vietnamese restuarant. That is where I am. What am I doing here? I need to go to that circus. No, the carnival. What's wrong with me today? Stumbling on the street, I among my way to the circus. In my dazed state, I walked and was approached by unintelligible carnis saying something about something that I needed to pay to do something. The rides all looked run down. There are spastic bumper cars, not like they all cease functioning, but rather they randomly stop individually. The Ferris wheel is just as spontaneous, losing mobility before every full rotation.

Left, right, forwards, right, left, forwards, right, back. Once again I'm lost but I have reason to be; I don't yet understand the frame of this circus. Seeing my confusion, a carni walks up to me again. He tugs at my sleeves with pleading eyes. As I'm positioned into stand, I see the target. It looks to be 15ft away. That can't be right because the booth extends further. Now I see. There are mirrors, which serve to shorten the actual distance. I'd judge it to be 30ft. The mirrors must be covered in plexiglass, they'd break so easily otherwise. The whole design is just a ploy to scam some money.

As I am just thinking, the carni just takes the 3 dollars in my hand and hands me three knives in return. What's wrong with the knives? Nothing. There's just a faint memory lingering on them, a feeling of uneasiness. Why can't I remember? I want so hard to remember. There is only one thing to do. I take three quick throws.

"Good job Hiroshi, excellent shot as ever," says the man on my left. "It's whatever," I reply. "We need to send you out sometime, a job might help hone your skills," says the man on my right. "Sure," I say. "I heard about this place called Watershed Heights," says the man on my left.

Everything goes black.