A Room, a Shelf, and a Book of Stories

Snow

 He was dead. He could tell that much. He didn't know this forest. The darkened tree limbs lit by the little blue orbs of light. Gaseous balls of blue flame. They danced through the foliage like exotic butterflies. And the snow. Covering the ground in a thick blanket of white, resting on the black tree limbs contrasting sharply with the blue orbs. A feeling of peace blanketed the place. He settled in to his perch on one of the branches. A single snow flake rested on his hand, pausing he watched it melt.

Not for the first time he wondered what would happen next. He'd been here a while, days and weeks, maybe even months and years, time passed strangely here. Endless quiet, forever trapped in this dark forest was becoming monotonous. This didn't seem to be all. No crossing the river of souls? Paying the ferryman? Shouldn't there be some kind of ultimate judgement?

Jumping down, he reopened his eyes. He could move freely, he had no obligations, the silent anguish always seated on his chest gone. Feeling a burst of childish fancy come over him, the man spun around kicking up snow. 

Collapsing on his back he smiled slightly, watching the blue flames dance above him. Blue was good color he decided. It was comforting and reminded him of... something. What was that thing? Hmm. He sat up deep in thought. He couldn't remember. That wasn't expected. He could still remember other things. He had a younger brother. Wasn't... there a pet too?

These woods, was he to be left here forever, losing his grasp on sanity with each passing second?

He is afraid now, the anxiety is bubbling up, and he is so very afraid. For every time he has been alone, he's never truly been alone. He had a purpose, a goal, and now he is alone and nothing is left to achieve.

He glanced around again, standing he narrowly avoided one rather vicious charge from the darkest blue orb. The center of the orb was midnight hued, fading to a cobalt tone. It aimed for his left eye, he barely flinches away in time. It rounded his head darting down the path. He followed to sate the curiosity eating at his mind, choosing to ignore his instincts. 

Some warning about dead cats echoed in his mind. 

He followed the dark blue flame as it darted on. The other blue lights were less frequent, replaced by empty hollows in the trees. Soon the light flickered and disappeared leaving the raven haired man alone. He wandered forward coming upon a small clearing. There was a small pond, unfrozen but dark and still. His brother would have loved to play in these woods. 

He pushed his way through the branches and snow. The near silent crunch of the icy white under his feet, brought minute relief to the dead man's features. Proof that he wasn't truly alone. Indeed, he was dead, or trapped in the most elaborate illusion he had ever seen.  

The sounds of the crunching snow, of self directed breathless laughter, the feel of packed icy snow under his feet, his hands shaking slightly inside the thick black coat he still wore. He existed, that was all that mattered. Each sound, movement or feel of something just amplified this belief. Through the branches he caught sight of movement, something other than the dancing blue flame. A little kid in a red coat playing in the snow. The child's white hair hung in choppy wisps, resting on bony shoulders. Blackened horns curved away from the child's scalp. Their face rose and the man was met with the sight of dark word scrawled on the child's forehead. 

 Death 

The child stared at him with black eyes, "You're here." 

"Death..."the dark haired man's face was blank, but his voice tinged with awe, and fear. After all, luck hadn't been in his favor in quite awhile. 

"So many souls here. In this forest like you." The child murmured. 

"Do you wonder why you cant see them? Why you are still here?" 

He stays silent not answering. The child lifts their hands from the snow, reaching for the walking stick leaned on one of the near by trees. The piece of wood is almost longer than He is tall, but the heavy curved sickle is the only thing the man's eye can comprehend. The child's frame shudders once  touching the handle, and then he has to crane his neck to look them in the eye. The formerly wispy white hair hangs to the figure's tailbone like a bone colored veil. The horns are curved toward the shoulders. Now those inky black eyes are less child like, thoughts of that frightening innocence gone.

"Do you want to go back? And forget everything?

"Y-yes. B-But I want to remember."

"Good"

The skeletal hand reaches out. One finger extended. It touches his forehead.

"Sleep"

And he dreamed.

He dreamed of soft hands and warm blankets, of sirens and medicinal smells. Of a pretty woman sitting with him. Of someone's voice telling him stories. And the wet tongue of a dog.

"Wake up" the voice fades and the memories of snow wash in.

"Wake up Please! Wake up" It returns with the scent of Cinnamon and lemon cleaning supplies.

"Wake up"

He opens his eyes to see a nurse. And white. The room is white and the sheets are white and the machines are white. He's in a hospital.

The nurse is pale, her hair a bright platinum. Her hair is pulled back at the nape of her neck. Her eyes are a dark brown, almost black. She is wearing dark, dark red scrubs.

"Awake now? Good. I'll be going, so that the real nurse will come in here and see you." She turns to leave.

He reaches out grabbing the end of a sleeve. "Why?" He whispers hoarsely.

She smiles a disturbing twist of lips, and the voice says.

"I want to have a friend, yes? Well it wasn't your time yet, so why not invite you in and talk. None of the others saw me you know. Thousands of people go into comas every day. And you're the only one who saw me."

"Why me?"

The woman laughs. "Its lonely there. You were there for a long time, you know what I mean. I almost thought that you wouldn't see me. But you did. We'll meet again."

She takes his hand. Her fingers are cold but the skin is soft. Circles are traced on his palm. She pauses looking him in the eyes. Her fingers on his lifeline.

"But not for a while."

There is a small hiccup in the flow of his lifeline. It's close to the midpoint of the line, but on the starting half. Her cold, soft fingers rest directly over it.

"But that's okay." She whispers, voice changed. "You'll have lots of stories to share with me." He reaches his captured hand to touch her face. She smiles again and he nods.

The heart monitor and the other endless machines whose purpose he doesn't understand begin to go off, beeping at a furious pace. Nurses and doctors rush in.

The woman is gone. And on his hand is a single drop of clear liquid. A tear.

-The End-