I staggered in anyway. What’s a broken down old building between friends?

Somehow, I knew this place: the pattern of bricks in the walls; the broken floor tiles, the color and texture of the light flooding in through the arches. Had I been here before? No.

I sat on the makeshift bench-ring, and looked at my friends. Dan stood tall, laughing in his usual dominant way that encompassed us all and claimed us as his gang. Pete and Ricky sat on either side of me, forming a perfect semi-circle with the others.

I searched the scene a moment longer, reaching for a memory, long forgotten. It was no use. Tired, I let me eyes fall to the ground.

Suddenly the broken floor was brand new. It exploded with intricate works of stylised imagery. The walls seemed vibrate with power. The others… a new beard, a different hairstyle. Everything was the same, but not. It felt… right.

My cloak ruffled in the wind. My cloak? I had changed too. I recognised myself a little.

What was this place? I only knew it was part of me.