Boulevard of Dreams (Phan)

Boulevard of Dreams

I opened my eyes. I was in Paris, on a little boulevard with the sun setting, rainbows reflecting on the rain puddles on the street. I was walking, using my perefiral vision to take in my surrondings. I only looked forwards. I opened my eyes. I was in a moving car, with thousands of tiny balls of light in the night sky. There were people shouting at me, shaking me. I only looked forwards. The car turned into the boulevard, and there a brown-eyed boy met me. He took my hand in his and we walked, matching the sounds of our footsteps to create a beautiful melody. Ding dong. I opened my eyes. I was wrapped in the hands of a burly man, carrying me bridal-style to god knows where. I collapsed on the ground, landing in a pile of my own blood. I was blinking, I was breathing... but I felt dead. Like the one purpose in life is to just Carry On and see what happens. I opened my eyes. I was in  a rickety, single-bed, with my hands linked together on my chest. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. A boy with brown eyes entered the room. He pulled me out of the bed, and we walked down long corridors together, matching the sounds of our footsteps to make a beautiful melody. Ding dong. We turned a corner, and we were back in the beloved bolevard of dreams. He took my hand in his, and the warmness of his soul shot up my veins like blood. I opened my eyes. I was in a chair in a dim room, the aroma of scented candles filling my nose. The lady in the other chair with a notepad and a patch that said 'The saints will pray' Mental Hospital on it asked me the meaning of life. I said it was to Carry on. I opened my eyes. I was on a cold floor, the words 'Hallucinations,' and 'Mentally unstable,' and 'Should be locked up' filled the room, attracting hospital-goers like a pie on a windowsill. I did not open, nor close my eyes. They were fixated  on a boy with bown eyes in the corner, gesturing me to come tothe boulevard with him. "No," I told him. "People musn't know of out secret. They think i'm crazy." The boy suggested that we're all crazy. I shrugged and told him to Carry on. I opened my eyes. I was in a bathroom, porcelin tiles lined with blood. There was a razor in the sink and my face had lines of blood running down it. It was beautiful. I remembered my mum telling me i'm crazy, just like the boy did. She said there was no such thing as a boulevard of derams, and that my boy was't real. She said dating one of the same sex is a sin. I told her it did not matter. I told her I did not feel anything towards the boy. I lied. My brother was scared of me. He told me that one day he would take me to The Saints Will Pray and they would take care of me. I do not know how he died. But I did not cry. I am stronger than that. I closed my eyes. My brown-eyed boy was not waiting for me in the boulevard. He was not there. I got angry. I threw things and broke things and destroyed our boulevard. My boulevard. I opened my eyes. I had a knife in one hand. I killed the lady with the notepad. I killed my mother. I killed the burly man. I did open, nor close my eyes. I did not hear a Ding dong. I did not Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. When I turned, I did not meen my boy at the boulevard. I did not Carry On.