Just This Once

Jean's Dream

Jean felt dead. Marco wasn't his anymore. He was exhausted yet sleep seemed like a fantasy. He flopped down on his bunk and passed out. Almost instantly, he began to dream.

~

The knife dwindled in front Jean's head. It was illuminated by a foreign light and glistening with fresh blood. The red from the blood clashed with reflectiveness of the metal. Nobody had died. Nobody had even been hurt. The knife itself was bleeding. It soon began to pour and pour, filling wherever he was standing. Jean was soon enveloped by red. He began frantically choking and gasping for air. When his lungs could no longer bear it, he closed his eyes to enter complete darkness. He forced his eyes to remain open from fear of being taken by the red. He hammered his eyes open, yet nothing changed. All he could see was black.
Nothing.
Empty space.
Darkness.
He also realized he could stand and walk. He turned around, unable to see where he was going. Yet, a glimpse. A shimmer. A sparkle. A twinkling light so far off in the distance, yet so close. He walked until he began to run. The light grew brighter and brighter until he found some sort of entryway to a world so light, it almost hurt his eyes. His clothes were pure white. Am I dead? He could see now.
Trees and flowers, animals and humans, blues and yellows, reds and greens. This place... It was magnificent. He closed his eyes, smiled, and took one long inhale from the fresh air. The sound of life and life everywhere was this place's anthem. Suddenly, all was silent. The place grew dark. Cold. Stiff. The happy place had morphed into a small room with a mirror off in the corner. He looked around and saw no doors or windows. As he cautiously walked to the mirror, he felt warm and icy simultaneously. He looked down at his feet as he approached the mirror. He turned square up to the glass and looked up. He didn't see himself.

He saw Marco.

Jean was shocked enough to jump backwards. His reflection- Marco, did the same. He stepped towards the mirror wearingly and reached for the glass. His fingertips met the reflections. It felt as if he wasn't touching glass, but Marco himself. He stared apologetically in to the eyes of the mirror.
Then, the reflection dropped his hand without the command of Jean. He backed off slowly and disappeared.

~

Jean woke up with the sweats and chills.
He dug viciously for his phone which he the typed:

"To: Marco
'Im so sorry. Im such an ass. Please give me another chance. '"

He pressed send and waited patiently among the sheets for a response.

A faint knock resounded on the door. Jean bolted up, fixed his hair, and creaked open the door.

"Hey you."

Jean began to cry.

~~~