It rode down on a chariot of fire as it descended from the mysteries that fly above our heads; the enflamed horses whinnied and snorted as they strained against the reins held by a man in a pure white sheet, with a leaf headband. With a big crack of a whip snapping in the air, the energetic equines raced even faster, the chariot barreling towards the painted sunset of pinks and blues and yellows. The rein master watched the cascading, yellowish-orange sun across the horizon, thinking of the life he just left; the one full of joy and laughter just a few short weeks ago.
He could still see her smile as she looked at a sunset similar to this, right before…He snapped the reins again, urging the horses faster, trying to persuade the wind to pick up and whirl away the secrets his past held, and the pain that they caused. He could hear nothing but the horses’ whines as they pushed their limits, see nothing but the chromatic canvas of splattered colors surrounding a deep yellow arc curling over the trees painted black, taste nothing but the after-taste of the little blue pills, feel nothing but the rough, worn leather scraping against his knowing, calloused hands; the same hands that were wrapped around the steering wheel, the same mouth that screamed at his mother, the same eyes that shed tears of betrayal, hurt, and overwhelming pain, the same ears that heard the screech of the tires as his foot tried to stomp on the brakes…
In the back of his mind, he could hear a beeping, could feel poking and prodding, could smell the rusty tang of blood, but all he could fully focus on and comprehend was the picture perfect scene displayed ahead of him, and the all-consuming guilt that saturated every pore of his existence. As he and the horses raged on, a blinding white light jumped out from a concealed point along the hidden horizon, and it blasted towards him with a speed that put lightning to shame. As the brilliant beacon consumed him, voices and smells and feeling rushed at him with the force of a thousand armies. One moment, he felt as little as he could, and the next, he felt a hand holding his, a needle in the crook of his elbow, a rough paper gown covering him to near his knees, the hardness of what could only be a small hospital bed. After about a second of complete silence in his head, he heard several voices and noises: the rough, gravelly voice of his father, a smooth, even, professional voice of reason, a soft whimper similar to that of an abandoned puppy’s, and a rhythmic beeping somewhere near his head; he could smell iodine wafting around him, the sharp smell of cologne, and a light undertone of flowery perfume.
A groan, hoarse from the dryness of his throat, ripped out from him as he dragged open his lead eyelids open to take in the sights around him that paled in comparison to the location he was in just
moments previously. The white walls seemed to blank compared to the luminescent pinks; the window holding pictures of enormous skyscrapers and small stores appeared too artificial to match the almost addicting beauty of the sky as it switched colors as the sun settled beneath the blanket of trees. There were gasps of surprise and relief all around him as he moved his eyes towards the people looking expectantly at him; however, all he saw was the big burly man who was sitting in the hard, plastic chair next to the equally hard bed. His shoulders seemed to drop a hundred pounds as his eyes settled on the
face of the man he’s known all of his life. The lines on his face indicated worry and stress, and his deep blue eyes, so similar to his own, held never-ending sadness due to loss under happiness and relief at seeing his son awake for the first time in over four weeks.
As the boy looked at the man he knew as his father, he uttered the only two words his brain could think of in this moment: “I’m sorry.” That was when he finally grieved for his loss, and started to forgive himself for how everything came to a screeching halt.
