It is almost surreal, he thinks, the scenery unfolding
before him. A sea of silver grass dancing in the wind, rustling in his ears,
almost lulling him to sleep. Above, the sky is blue and vast, adorned with
thin, wispy clouds gently swept by the wind. The hill upon which he is sitting
is a carpet of emerald, soft grass inviting him to lie his tired back.
He does just so, closing his eyes and spreading his arms wide besides him and just—feel.
He doesn't know why he's here, or how long he has been here. It feels like forever. Like a dream.
Maybe it is?
A soft melody is caught by his ears, the voice reverberating through the landscape. A song?
When he opens his eyes, the sky is a velvet dark blue. He pushes himself up, noting with just a small relief that the stars help give a little light to the darkened meadow. He can still hear the rustling sound of the silver grass; a voice singing from afar. He knows that voice. He feels like he should know—who is it?
He does just so, closing his eyes and spreading his arms wide besides him and just—feel.
He doesn't know why he's here, or how long he has been here. It feels like forever. Like a dream.
Maybe it is?
A soft melody is caught by his ears, the voice reverberating through the landscape. A song?
When he opens his eyes, the sky is a velvet dark blue. He pushes himself up, noting with just a small relief that the stars help give a little light to the darkened meadow. He can still hear the rustling sound of the silver grass; a voice singing from afar. He knows that voice. He feels like he should know—who is it?
Standing up, he braves the night and makes his way down to the dense sea of silver grass. That’s where the voice is coming from. He steps carefully, squinting his eyes as he walks on a pathway between the tall silver grass towering over him.
Logically, he knows it is impossible to find someone amidst the dense silver, under the night sky like this. But he knows, somehow, he’ll find her. It is a dream, after all.
Blindly wading through the tall grass, he follows the source of the singing. With each step he takes, a vision—flash of memories?—starts to come before his eyes.
Crunch.
He had a life, a family, and friends.
Crunch.
He was in class, sitting at the far back, looking disinterestedly at the whiteboard. He had stayed up all night, unable to sleep due to the screams and shouts echoing from downstairs.
Crunch.
He saw a lady in her early forties, sitting at the dining table with hands covering her face, shoulder shaking with emotion. Mother. At the end of the hall, his father was busy talking to the phone, voice tense and heavy as he was ready to leave the house.
He remembers feeling tired, worn out, maybe a little angry but mostly sad.
He remembers going out to clear his mind. Running has always been a mean for him to let out the heavy burden in his heart. Sure, he cannot run from his problems, from reality, but he can run.
He remembers seeing a sudden headlight from the corner, remembers how he was too stunned to move, remembers hearing the high-pitched scream of a brake and—that is the last thing he remembers.
* * *
The voice is getting clearer, a melody so gentle like a lullaby.
He follows his instincts, letting his legs move on their own, leading him. It’s still too dark to see, so he halts, closes his eyes and inhales.
When he opens his eyes, the sky is once again the color of brilliant blue.
He continues to walk through the sea of silver and green, accompanied by the gentle wind. He knows he is near, when his eyes catch sight of a clearing not far ahead of him.
He hastens his pace; suddenly feeling a longing so strong it is hard to breathe. His feet move faster, and faster until he is finally running, and—
There is a lady, standing in the middle of the clearing. Her long, wavy hair teased by the wind. He cannot see her face, for the sun is directly behind her, casting a shadow just so he could only see her smile.
He runs into her welcoming arm.
* * *
There is a constant beeping sound coming from afar. At first, he can only hear it faintly, but slowly, the sound gets louder and louder in his ear.
His eyelids feel heavy when he tries to open them. His whole body a dead weight when he tries to move.
He hears a muted conversations, voices speaking at just above a whisper. The beeping continues steadily against his ears, like an alarm clock he should wake up to, hit the snooze button and then curl back to bed.
He is in bed, isn’t he?
Strengthening his willpower, he forces his eyes to open, and—the world blurs around him. He blinks a few times, slowly, lethargically, trying to get a clearer vision.
To the left, he makes out the form of a lady. Her long, wavy hair falls across her back and shoulder.
Ah, he thinks, it's her after all.
She doesn't see him yet—she’s speaking to someone. He tries to call her, but his voice is so hoarse he cringes at t inwardly. So he tries again, and says, “M…om?”
The lady—his mother, turns her head so fast he’s afraid she’d get a crick. He feels his hand is held and raised, feeling the soft skin and warmth of her hand. She guides it to her cheek, and he feels the tears streaming down to his weak hand.
“You’re awake.”
He looks up to his mother’s face, looking so old and tired and fragile and—he forces his facial muscles into a small, gentle smile.
“I’m back.”
- NeverEnding -