It’s finally there, a field of green grass inhabited by critters and watched over by a man whose straw hat has long outlived itself. Stitches grabs the dirty and nearly disembodied rim of his hat and lifts it barely out of his vision, grasping for himself a better look at the colorful fox adult that bounds through his yard. A peaceful smile graces his face as he looks onward to what he has built, to what was once so far away that now exists so close to him. He can hear the gentle rustling of wind through the leaves, the persistent and annoyed whinnying of his old equine companion, Bread. The plants in the sowed rows are growing nicely, and rain clouds threaten moisture on the horizon. For once, in almost every year he has haunted Bree as a ghost and not a person, he finally seems to be moving towards a reality that doesn’t burn beneath his skin. He looks down to not trip, stepping down the stairs of his manor to greet the day and provide what he is responsible for with a determination that supersedes every hope of wonder he has ever harbored in his heart.
He looks up and the world has turned into the cosmos; a sparkling, twinkling void of blues and purples, and faint shimmering lights. Everything is still and silent. Itharius, his fox friend, is gone from sight. Bread, his beloved companion and horse, has gone missing. Before he can register this newest dream of his, a light ignites within the space ahead of him, all around him. Like a star exploding and sending brightness and glamor into the infinite, he is blinded by someone just in front of him. From within the light, a faint shape emerges. Five distinct lines form delicate fingers, and an open and inviting palm. Someone is reaching for him. Someone is trying to pull him up into the everlasting heavens beyond. Stitches smiles, extending his arm towards the open hand, everything slowing in the moment. He can hear himself move, feel his heartbeat, smell distant rain and warm bread. This must be what comes after, the paradise everyone hopes for after they have lived their life to the fullest.
All at once, his hand misses the tip of the other fingers, the ones that were so ready to accept him. Just as quickly as he had reached for them, he can feel the vacuum that exists behind him begin to slowly drag him away from the light. The fingers, the palm, the lines, they all fade into the faintness of the light. In his catharsis he does not cease his grin, watching with hope as the darkness begins to suck him back into its depths. Tendrils of shadows wrap around his neck, his wrists, his face, tugging at the corners of his lips as if defiantly trying to destroy his smile. The light gets further away, and his pale and dull emerald eyes continue their unbroken stare towards the last bit of hope left. Every time it starts this happens. This darkness, the unending tragedy that will be the thing to end it. Every time the light grows brighter, the gloom that surrounds his life returns to keep him there. Every time, faithfully. Yet, with nothing left to tear away, nothing left to be lost but only himself, he smiles still, even as his vision obscures in black, and he finds the pressure of his life constrict around him, clouding him in what will become his forever. He will wake from this fever dream, and feel no different. This is what it is. Every time. Faithfully.
