I dreamt I was a butterfly

  A squat man in a pte carrier over a bck tax assessor suit threw Paul into the helicopter, while two uys leaned out firing. A shell g as thick as a shot gss bounced off his shoulder and the gunshot made the helicopter roar seem shy. He put his hands on his ears. It didn’t help.

  “Close it up!” someone yelled. Paul put his hands down. Even muffled, the voice was familiar. Andler sat down across from him as the gunmen shut the door. One hugged a GM6 Lynx, a semi-auto .50 BMG bullpup rifle, and the other dropped the mag out of his Tavor 7, a .308 assault rifle. Paul tried to remember why he knew what those guns were as Andler handed him a headset. He put it on, and for the first time in what felt like hours, it was quiet.

  “What the fuck is going on? Why are you here?” said Paul.

  “Do you remember what you did after high school?” said Andler.

  “What?”

  Paul flinched as a bullet smacked into the window a a small white dot. More rounds hit the side and the gunmen looked out like someone had called their name.

  “Is that a fug M240?”

  “He still ain't pung through this armor.”

  Andler ighem. “Paul, what did you do after high school?”

  “This isn’t the time for a fug session!” Paul screamed. Andler leaned in.

  “What did you do after you graduated?”

  Whatever power Andler had over him returned and something tugged at the back of his mind, pulling him towards the question. He had a bachelor’s in fihat’s how he got his first cover job. So, he must have goo college, right?”

  “I went to college,” Paul said. His voice cracked.

  “Did you go to college?” Andler asked. He didn’t sound like he believed it.

  Paul let his mind fall backwards till it snapped into pce just after high school, like a groove worn into his memory, and it all came back with a wave of nostalgia. The feeling of having so much freedom so suddenly. People asking him what he was going to do with his life, like they were trying to warn him of something they couldn’t put into words.

  Dim smoky back bedrooms, the tidepools of house parties. Friends popping out of existence like they had been chosen for rapture. Moving out of state or dying in a puddle of vomit.

  You should e work with me, bro. I don’t think I do long-distance, babe. We wish you success in your future endeavors, Mr. Taylor. A million paths opening and closing like blood vessels. The feeling of being stuck still in the middle of it, uo move. He pushed through like he was living it all ain, and there was something at the end.

  His memory split in two. In one, a mao a uy, took csses, got a degree in finance, met an old friend from high school at a bar, did work for some people he knew, and slowly got into the game. The man was named Paul, looked like Paul, acted like Paul, a bit, but…

  Iher, a scared boy. Patg the holes with weed and delusions. W sixty hours a week at a shitty retail job just to have enough moo move out, doing anything to get away from…

  “Fuck!” the man who had been Paul yelled. The first memory fell away and all the weight of the sed fell on him like a beating. He choked on his breath.

  “Are you with me?” Andler said.

  “Yes! Why the fuck didn’t you get me up sooner?”

  Andler leaned ba his seat.

  “You pin about our methods if we don’t get you through that door. Otherwise, just keep your head down.”

  Paul stared at him. The word ‘door’ caught fire and bzed in his head, and he khere was still something he had fotten.