The Death Rattle

You’re here now. You are warm and sweaty, from all the walking around along the beach on a sunny April afternoon. Your cheeks, almost the colour of sunset, red and delightful. The wind is blowing through your hair as we sit on a lone turquoise bench and stare at the waves tirelessly hitting the rocks. You’re laughing about how we always turn horror movies into out-and-out comedies and chortle like hyenas amidst a hall filled with pale, scared faces. I think to myself about how much I adore you and your oddities. I try to tell you how I felt when suddenly, the clock strikes 8 am and my alarm goes off. I open my eyes and rub you off with a yawn.

You’re here again. Only this time, you look much older and your skin has started getting wrinkly. You still look as beautiful as you did back then. You are holding my head in your arms while I lay on your lap, covered in a green robe and pipes inside my nose and mouth. I must be sick again. You whisper something but I could only see your lips moving. I can’t seem to hear anything even though I’m awake. I tell you that I’m glad you’re here. You kiss my forehead and a drop rolls down my face. Maybe you are crying. I think to myself about how I adore you and all your oddities. I try to tell you just how I feel when suddenly the lights go off and I hear a jarring monotonous beep. In few seconds, everything turns into a blue blackness. I can hear you cry even louder now. Almost, squealing. Maybe, I’m asleep. I hope the alarm goes off at 8 am tomorrow and we can go watch a horror movie. It’s been a while. Hasn’t it?