As the petals of a nearby daisy began to be plucked off of its head, they were carried away in the breeze. The petals were whipped and cracked by the wind; the rhythmic sound of Paul’s voice was also carried. The words, “she loves me,” and, “she loves me not,” were the rhythmic textures that were carried, producing a little song of happiness and heart break, depending on what he pulled. Paul had been basking in the sunlight for hours, his skin nice and warm, but he was also cool from the breeze. He had made friends with the grass and the daisies around him, and had enjoyed their company. As he began to sing his simple song, some of the daisies rushed to him, wanting to be plucked by him.
As he got to the last petals, instead of hearing himself say, “She loves me,” he heard Marylyn’s voice say, “I love you.” He then pulled his eyes from the petals and up to the horizon ahead of him. Sitting before a white chair appeared, similar to the chair were he slept in his first dream. Marilyn was sitting in the chair; she was in a wedding gown, it was as white as pearls. The dress was sleeveless which caused her creamy porcelain skin to show. Her hair was up in a decorative bun with porcelain chopsticks sticking through the bun. She was shoeless, showing her perfect feet to him. Her lips were plump and juicy like a ripe strawberry, just plucked from a field. Her cheeks were perfectly red as if she was a geisha. She sat more relaxed than proper, as if she was waiting for someone.
“I love you,” she said again, tears filling her eyes.
“I love you,” she said, his eyes began to water.
“I love you,” she said, the words began to echo in his head.
“I love you,” she said, her body began to shake.
“I love you,” she said, she began to scream.
“I LOVE YOU,” she said, the ground began to shake.
“I LOVE YOU,” she said, her skin began to boil.
“I LOVE YOU,” she said, her skin began to crack.
“I LOVE YOU,” she said, as she disappeared into thin air.
His eyes at this time were flowing with tears, as if he was a river. The words were still echoing in his head. His body slowly began to rise unconsciously and started to walk towards the chair, as if he was in a trance or hypnotized. As he came upon the chair he sat upon the roughness of the textures that the chair produced. His body was instantly pulled against the chair as if there was a magnetic pull on his body coming from the chair. The chair began to speed towards the horizon, as if it were a car. The chair began to swerve and turn and curve out of control, slamming into dead tree. The chair turned red, as it drained the blood out of his body from cuts and gashes in his skin. Cracks in his skull and bones became exposed through his skin, not causing him any pain, as if all his nerves had been numbed. The chair then bent and crooked and twisted into the form of a hospital gurney. As he lay in the hospital bed, wires and tubes tore through his skin and grow longer, connecting machines and bags of medicine.
The ground began to shake, and deep cuts appeared in the ground. Then out came walls of pale white, followed by a flat white ceiling that fell from the sky. The grass below and dirt beneath the bed then shook and white tiles protruded from the ground. Then chairs and windows and doors appeared around him, as if they were there the whole time. Then a cloth wrapped around his body, turning into a hospital dress, causing him to no longer be nude.
As Paul’s eyes whipped from side to side, he realized that he was alone in the room. But then bodies began to pop up around him. The people around him consisted of his friends and family, all of them with the same face of sadness and tears.
Then Paul sat up, his body staying still, but more like his spirit that was moving. The long piercing ringing of the heart rate monitor began to soak into everyone’s ears. He got out of the bed and looked back at himself, his lifeless body pale with stains of blood. As he looked upon himself, he remembered all of the things that had happened to him, the accident and the dreams. Tears filled everyone’s eyes, but everything seamed to be in slow motion. The people around him screamed, his mother dropped to her knees. His friends cried and held each other. His brother sat in the corner, weeping with sorrow. Everything was sad, and everything was bad, except for Marilyn: she was sitting on Paul’s side, whispering in his ear, repeating the words, “I love you,” over and over again.
Paul was dead.
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