『The purpose of dreams persist to be vaguely understood by humanity, yet have been the topic of countless scientific, religious, and philosophical interests for eons. Evidence points towards them being just a succession of emotions, memories and stimuli, but could they be, if only for a fleeting moment in the infinite expanse of time, something...… more?』

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  Oddly, that was my first thought as I emerged from the dimensionless oblivion that is my every night. The uncanny period during the transition from a state of unconsciousness to consciousness is the closest thing to a "dream" that I can say I've experienced for several long years.

  My nights consist of both an infinitely long and impossibly short unawareness that leaves me rested, yet feeling - in some peculiar way - incomplete. It's as if I'm missing some crucial aspect of a human identity.

"I'm afraid you have obtained what is known as Charcot–Wilbrand syndrome," my physician said as he seated himself in his luxurious leather chair.

"Due to the damage your prefrontal cortex suffered during your accident, you may experience visual agnosia as well as the inability to recall or experience dreams."

  His face showed no emotion. I can't blame him - he had to have delivered similar news to countless patients before me; not to mention his income was at the very least six figures.

"Due to the sheer rarity of this condition, I'm sorry to say there isn't anything further that can be done," he said as he clicked his pen, "However, you should be able to lead a normal life from here."

  He was right. I was able to live a normal - yet at the same time - unfulfilling life. My dream as a child was to transform the world for the benefit of everyone, but it seems as though that part of me was left within a confinement of twisted metal and shattered glass that left me parentless nine years ago.

  So I found it odd that within the initial few instances upon waking, my mind was occupied by "something" rather than the usual "nothing."

  The scent of - of....? My grasp upon this "something" wavered, and for a brief moment I could vaguely register the scent of something.... copper? But the instant my consciousness registered this aroma, it cascaded into the abyss of my memory, leaving only a lingering aftertaste of metal on my tongue.

  Despite my frantic efforts to reach out and preserve this scent in my memory, it forever ceased to exist as it succumbed to what I assumed was another lovely side effect of my condition. I was in awe at what I thought to be the first fragment of a dream I had retained in years.

  Great things don't last apparently as the rational part of my mind introduced itself and I soon came to the uneventful conclusion that the taste was likely caused by an unknown mixture of bile, stomach acid, and other foul substances.

  I sat up well-rested, yet agitated. It's that feeling of forgetting what you wanted to say or do --- it was nagging at my subconscious.

  I chose to ignore it, however. My feet hit the cool, wooden floor with a thud.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Must be chilly today," I muttered under my breath as I walked out of my apartment's bedroom, making sure not to stub my toe on the doorframe.

  …..I still stubbed it.

"GOD DAMMIT!" I yelled as my voice reverberated through my practically empty, yet clean apartment.

  I only returned to a relatively normal stature once the pain had subsided. Fortunately, nothing was bleeding except my respect for my innately awful motor skills.

  I took a few lethargic steps towards the apartment's doorway, grabbing my bag and a large coat hanging from a hook bolted into the adjacent wall before slipping on a pair of sneakers.

  I was dressed in what I slept in - sweatpants and a tee-shirt.

"The coat should be enough," I thought as I fumbled with the lock on the door, slinging the bag over my shoulder while doing so.

  I pushed open the door - a rush of bone chilling wind and the radiance of the street light simultaneously assaulted my senses as I was rendered paralyzed by the complete and utter opposite of what I had been experiencing moments prior.

"Wow ---," I mumbled as my eyes adjusted to the wintry landscape before me, adorned with inches of snow and glistening ice that coated everything that wasn't already covered in a thick layer of white.

  I guaranteed my motor skills didn't fail me this time as I cautiously descended the porch stairs enveloped in a sheet of the beautiful, yet hazardous ice.

  I mounted my ordinary red bicycle that had been leaning against the wall, the metal hand bars freezing my hands upon contact.

"It's not as if I have any other means of transport," I sighed to myself, my warm breath visible in the frigid November air, as I began my three-kilometer long "journey" to the local college campus.

  On an ordinary day, it would take me approximately ten minutes to complete, but it was nowhere near what one would call an "ordinary day" in terms of weather.

  I took in the scenery of the town as I carefully biked my usual route to campus.

  The town isn't exactly huge - but it isn't small either. What was certain was that it looked absolutely stunning in the presence of snow. The lights hovering over the main street in preparation for the holidays casted a nostalgic and welcoming aura on their surroundings.

  My eyes glanced over the various shops opening for business as the first traces of dawn could be seen peeking over the horizon. Markets, bakeries, restaurants, and a café every here and there could be spotted lining the main street for as far as the eye could see.

  I caught hold of an elderly man taking a morning stroll in my peripheral vision, and I rotated my head slightly to the right and to make eye contact with him. Blue eyes, wispy grey hair, and ----

  ---- I didn't exactly register that my bike had lost its traction from underneath me until I recognized an expression of startlement on the man's aged and wrinkled face.

  I was utterly entranced by the feeling of freefall; a pit grew in my stomach as gravity took ahold, sending me hurtling towards the pavement. Before I could extend my arms outwards to mitigate the impact, I struck the icy ground beneath me --- chin first.

  Every part of my being wavered, and for a moment the only sensation I could consciously register was the frigidness of the ice beneath me as I laid face down on the side of the road.

  My fingers twitched as the ability to move gradually returned to my body. In a confused daze, I clumsily crawled towards a large blue object. I propped my back against the aforementioned object and placed my shaking hand against it's cold metal body.

"A car?" I mumbled, unable to even process the situation I was in. I felt a warm fluid trickling from my lips.

"Are you okay young man!?" an elderly voice called out to -- me? -- with a strong southern accent.

  I barely understood his question as I was beginning to piece together what had just occurred. I was riding to class - then I got distracted - and then my bike slipped and then ------

                At that moment... my reality as I took it to be... shattered.

  Flowing from a wound on the ladder half of my tongue and staining the snow beneath me a deep crimson was -- blood.

---That was not what had caught my sole and uninterrupted focus, though.

Drowning out all other qualia, leaving me sightless, deaf, and numb, I was left with but one sensation --

The taste of copper.