I dreamt the other night I met Death.
The room where I sat was cold and dark. I felt if I spoke my voice would echo. The desolate blackness, like some ancient, frozen being, lost long ago in the void of time, held me in its form. I wore it on my sleeves, the blackness, the slime that trickled down my hands, but I was warm. At peace. Safe in the comfort of what I knew, what I hoped, was eternal.
Then came the light. A light not blinding, not so bright that I was forced to shield my eyes, but something translucent. A door had opened exposing a passageway to a place beyond. A figure passed through, leaving the doorway unguarded. As I watched the figure approach I realized it was John.
He wore a white t-shirt and blue jeans, his hair tussled and outgrown. His face was solemn, unmoved. He did not glance upon me. He took a seat beside me without a word. I watched him breathe slowly, calmly, his face unscathed, untouched from flames long dead. He joined his hands together. The skin of his hands was blackened and burnt, the sole trace of the inferno that took his life. We sat side by side, surrounded by darkness, but what held me, the shadows on my skin, did not reach for John. The blackness surrendered in his wake, slithering like a cautious predator circling its prey but afraid to strike.
I spoke.
“What do we do when everything’s gone?”
John did not reply. A thin smile crept across his face. He reached over and took my hands, holding them tight, and fire spread through me. A blazing, wonderful life flowed through my veins. Golden light emerged from John, lifting from his body, drawn from his chest. It grew in power till I could see nothing else. The shadows fled from my hands to the corners of the room, huddled away from the sight.
Then John let go.
He stood before me and leaned in, touching my shoulder and patting it twice, then turned and made his way to the passage.
The glow left and the darkness I wore crept back to latch upon my form.. The cloak I wore no longer felt safe but smoldering, suffocating and cold; ice water against my skin. The warmth had vanished.
John stood in the doorway. He looked as though there was something he wanted to say, something to comfort the man he would leave alone in the silence, but he never had the chance. The door had already shut, cutting off the light from my world.
I called out for John, my friend long gone, but no one answered.
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