Thomas clinched his eyes against the harsh light of the bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling, one for each cot. His vision was a sea of pink.
“Li-i-ights out!” came the call, and he knew for certain where he was. He was back. His eyes opened to pitch black, but he knew by heart what occupied each inch of the dormitory room. The smell of too many boys in too little space filled his nostrils, laced with the smell of cookies sent for another boy’s birthday by a distant relative. This was the day, June 13, 1988. He’d hated the smell of cookies ever since.
5 pints of Guiness. 3 weeks of nightmares. 1 little question from the wee fellow wearing a lot of green for it being so far from St. Patty’s day.
“If you could go back to that night, would you?”
He would. He did. He had. He now had three minutes to make a plan, but he had a plan. Thomas had been making the plan in the 22 years since that night. It was a good plan, he thought, one that involved a bit of daring and a whole of pain.