Sour Sweet Love

Epilogue

You know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.

Story Start

Point of View: Declan Andrews

2 years later; present time

                I wake up from the strangest dream.

                It’s weird, because it wasn’t really a dream. It was really a repeat of all my memories, starting from day one.

                Running along the beach with Liam when I was four. Wrestling with our dog, Timber, when I was five, and the sad day when he moved onto heaven when I was six. Having my first crush when I was seven. All those years finally coming back to me.

                I slowly try to pry open my eyes but find that it’s hard to. Either my eyes are closed, or it’s too dark. Then I realize that it’s not too dark; in fact, it’s too bright. The light blinds my eyes as if they haven’t opened in years. The room I’m in is entirely white.

                “Am I dead?” I try to mutter.

                Instead, a pathetic croak comes out. Maybe this is what heaven looks like? All white and empty and so bright that it’s blinding?

                Suddenly, a loud beeping fills my ears. What the hell? It’s completely disturbing me and causing me to get a headache. I wince, when suddenly; the door flies open when people come in. I don’t recognize these people at all, and they’re all wearing scrubs.

                “He’s awake!” I hear. “He’s awake! He’s awake!”

                “Damn right I’m awake,” I mutter under my breath.

                Oh, good. My voice is working somewhat correctly, although it’s kind of hoarse. What’s with these people? It’s not like I’ve been dead for three days and rose up again like Jesus or something. A middle aged man with glasses comes in, among all the frenzy as people poke and prod me, ask me questions and basically annoy the hell outta me.

                “Excuse me, can you tell me your name?” The man asks.

                Deciding that there must be a reason for him asking, I answer, “Uh, yeah. Declan Andrews?”

                “Good. Declan, where do you live?”

                “In New York.”

                “Can you tell me your father’s name?”

                “Samuel Andrews.”

                “Your mother’s name?”

                “Joyce Andrews.”

                “How old are you, Declan?”

                “I’m seventeen.”

                The man purses his lips like I got the question wrong. How could I? I scowl. I know how old I am.

                “Declan, when’s your birthday?”

                “March fourth, 1994.”