Seeing Colors

Part 1: Once Upon A Dream

| PART ONE |

 

"Petula," someone called out. His voice was clear, soft, and subtle as the light blow of the wind.  "Pete, hey, wake up."

       My eyes opened and a mixture of colors appeared: blue, green, brown, and white. It appeared as if my eyes were covered in tears that I couldn't see clearly.

       Rubbing my eyes, I gradually regained sight. I realized I was looking up to the clear blue sky, with the green trees outlining the surroundings like a perfectly sketched painting. It was beautiful, peaceful, and breath-taking. It was as serene a

        I sat up quickly, remembering the voice who had called my name. As it turned out, my head was laying flatly on his lap.

        I saw a boy with golden hair, brown eyes, and thin lips. His facial features resembled mine, in some ways. Simply, he looked like my brother.

        The boy was my brother.

        "Dylan," I said, surprised. "Is that you?"

        "God, Pete," he chuckled, and I couldn't help but to smile at the sound of it. It felt nice to hear him laugh once again. "We're in the middle of nowhere, you and I - me whom you haven't seen for a year - and you ask me if I was me? Or did I just mishear you say I miss you?"

       I chuckled, rolling my eyes. "So it is you, indeed."

      His lips formed a closed smile. "Petula, I missed you so much, you little piece of shi—"

       I cut him off with a hug; his skin against my skin. Warm, authentic. I couldn't help but feel a stinging sensation in my heart. I missed him, and I could say that a thousand times and never get tired.

       As we broke free, I looked around once again, slowly rubbing my eyes to make sure I was not imagining things or hallucinating. I was expecting to wake up and see my feet scrambled on the bed, but as my eyes opened, he was still there. My heart roared.

     "Dyl," I said, swallowing a lump in my throat. "You're—"

     "Dead, I know."

     I bit my lip. That word pained me whenever I heard it. "So why—"

     "So why am I here?"

      I nodded empathically.

     He smiled—a tight one—and in his eyes I could see a tiny hint of sadness, and I couldn't help but feel the very same.

     After a while, he said, "Damn, Pete, you're still as dumb as you were a year ago."

      I smacked his arms. He yelped. He gave me a dirty look, but continued anyway, "You're dreaming, Petula."

     "What?"

     "I'm a part of your dream," he stated. "You're asleep, Pete, and you're dreaming of me. This place, me, and everything - all these are from your mind."

     I stayed quiet for quite a while. Of course I was dreaming. Where else would I have seen my brother, alive and breathing?

      He died last year, at the age of seventeen, because of a rare case of Tuberculosis. It was very traumatic for me, and quite honestly, I haven't really moved on much since that day. Mom and I loved him so much, as he stood as my fatherly figure ever since dad left us for a wench when we were young. He was sweet, he was caring, he was annoying, and he was the best brother in the whole world.