It seems so real, the color, the feeling. I stand up and wander into a bedroom where I'm greeted by a vile sense of familiarity. The window is open and the shades are drawn. The television buzzes with its flashes of white and gray as the radio plays a soothing song. On the bed lay a child not much older than myself. He seems peaceful. Grasped tightly in his right hand is an empty pill bottle and on the nightstand beside him lay a pad, scribbled with words and feelings the boy though he could never say out loud. As I close my eyes in mourning of the lost child things change. I'm no longer in a house.

I'm in a church, large and elaborate, although still familiar. The light seems especially bright to me as I was carried by curiosity to the sound of joyous chattering and as I get closer the voices get more familiar. I walk through a glass door and into an auditorium, I pause for a moment to try and match faces to voices. I now realize they are my friends, every single one of them. I continue to observe from my spot in the back until I notice three figures standing near the front dressed in black, they're crying. Two of them I recognize right away as my mother and father, the third remains unrecognizable although familiar. I move towards them and as I get nearer I see a wooden box with silver knobs on the side. A coffin. The closer I get the longer it seems to take to get there. As I reach them I'm faced with the undeniable truth that I've attended my own funeral. I'm gone and the people who I thought cared remain unaffected by the fact.

Time seems as though it hasn't moved since I last closed my eyes. The window is still open and the shades are still drawn. The television still buzzes with its flashes of white and gray as the radio still plays its once soothing song, but I'm still alone. Why do I dream like this? In the silence I hear the sound of a creaking mattress just across the hall, I hear the cough of a woman who's been sick for years and the clacking of a puppy's paws on the cold wooden floor. I am awake.