The slight buzz in my ear was only the beginning. Then I realized that I was lying down, faced upwards... somewhere... It was pretty peaceful. A strange comforting feeling overtook me as I watched the clouds drift around with the winds. It wasn't long, however, when I realized where I was. I tried to move but I couldn't. Was I stuck there in that awkward position, was something in the way, or were my muscles too weak to yeild? But the answer soon came. I was dead. As I looked up this time, I noticed a tombstone set in place. I wondered why I didn't notice it before. It read: "R.I.P. Jimmy Lo". That was it. That was all. No date no nothing. The words were carved in and were almost indistinguishable, as if it had been there from the beginning of time, as if I had already died for centuries and my tombstone had deteriorated with the fall of acid rain from the time of it's initial erection. There was a tacky black and white photo of me firmly placed beneath my name. I did not recognize myself at first. I don't remember taking the picture, but it was certainly me.
I presume I was lying in my coffin or something, looking up. Or maybe I was just a desolate soul, trapped in the pores of the soil, trying ever more desperately to reach heaven (or hell). I would never know, but I felt a weird sense of happiness. Almost foolish sense of hapiness and peacefulness. I lay there staring at the sky as it turned different shades of light blue, orange, golden yellow, green, and then finally a deep black. I saw the stars slowly emerge. I couldn't remember ever having spent the time doing this when I was alive. Maybe I should've because it felt good. Days and days went by and I still stared blankly at the sky. The rain fell, even snow on some days and the sky faded into angry shades.
Then something appeared. People. People started visiting me. They came with tears, often praying, singing, even stopping to talk to me. I did not know these people and they seemed really quite strange. I do not recall their appearance but strangely enough, all of them seemed near to me, as if I knew them in a familiar past. Then came someone I knew. They were older than I remembered, and they looked really skinny. But there they were. Undeniably, they were my parents. I almost did not recognized them. They were wretched in appearance and they wore ragged clothes that were torn and mended a thousand times. I tried to speak for the first time but to no avail. I forgot what I wanted to say to them, but I felt an intense need. In my mother's fragile hands were a bunch of roses, wrapped around a few times with toilet paper. They were not red or white or black. They were yellow roses for some reason. It seemed usual to me at that time. They placed the yellow roses gently on my grave and whispered prayers. They cried with darkened eyes -- their eyes were dark and deep as if they had not slept for a month and just cried incessantly. They soon left, and I was alone again.
No more visitors came after that, and I found myself at peace again, looking up at the sky, watching as the yellow rose crinkled up. Their edges turned a light brown, then shrivelled up, and finally the whole thing turned black and melted into the ground, and into my heart.
Dreamed by: Jimmy Lo