Chapter 32

32

Silence.

No clock ticking, no heart beating, not a sound from a smoker's lungs inhaling or exhaling air.

In an all but empty room, lit by an unknown source, a tree stands alone. It's branches sprawl across the ceiling and I sit in a simple blue recliner beneath them.

There are no doors and no windows to speak of, yet a slight chill of a breeze makes its way through the room, silently rustling the leaves above me. A leaf dislodges itself from its branch and tumbles down onto my shoulder. I look up to see if more will follow.

That's when I notice that I am not alone.

Thousands of cocoons line the tree branches, mixed in with the leaves, and as the wind brushes past them they quietly begin to open.

I try to stand but cannot raise my legs. I try to speak, but find no voice. I relent and watch as wings begin to sprout from each casing.

The thick oak tree becomes a cacophony of colors, a rainbow of reds, blues, yellows and greens. Pastels burst forth, thousands of soon to be beating canvases, no two alike in any way.

And as I sit, a calm warms my bones. I can relax in this recliner as the butterflies race around the room, eagerly trying out their glorious new wings.

They swirl around me, passing so close to my face that I can smell lavender. One lands on my nose but I don't seem to flinch. I am completely absorbed in this whirlwind of colors.

I am serenity, bound to this chair, as this dimly lit room explodes into a tie-died nirvana.

This is perfection, and I wish you were here.