"Be happy, Keira. Don't lie in the shadows waiting for dawn to come. You have to thrive."
The arising sun blinded my eyes, sparkling in the sea before me. He was here. Right here, right now. And he was alive.
I was speechless. It didn't make sense, and it probably wasn't true. But the naïve part of me didn't care if it was reality or not. I just wanted to cherish this moment: with us hand in hand like old times.
But the way he was speaking made me think otherwise. Like he knew he was dead. Like he wanted me to move on. How's that possible? How could that happen when I thought of him every second of every day?
The wet grass twisted like curly fries as we sat down on a soft blanket. We watched as the silhouette of the moon slowly disappeared behind a raging sun, creating a setting full of opportunities and hope. When I was five, I always had a knack for art. I got it from him. He taught me how to take in my surroundings, to capture moments in my mind like a photograph then paint it on a canvas. He was my hero. Was.
I'll never forget that night. The way that driver hit him. He was just walking on the crosswalk, singing to himself with that beautiful voice of his. And the next thing you know, he's a mangled body underneath a white Lamborghini.
The hospital stank. Of grief, of pain, of sorrow, and of regret. It just. . . stank. The paramedics wheeled him in in the hope that they could save him. But they knew. The whole time. They knew. They took his life support away a week later.
I knew it wasn't the hospital's fault. At all. I guess. . . I wanted someone to blame. It's dumb, wrong, and selfish of me. But I was just too broken.
Looking at him now was a blessing. I got most of my features from him. The same brown hair, the same green eyes, and the same full lips. And ever since he passed away, I'm a stranger.
"It's a dream, isn't it?" I whispered.
He paused to look at me. "No, it's whatever you want it to be," he argued.
"Yeah. . . " I averted my eyes.
"Don't think about it," he gestured to the sky, "for now - just watch the sunrise."
I smiled, resting my head on his shoulder. Exhaling shakily, I gazed up at the sun-
▼▼▼
"No!" My eyes flew open, blood pounding in my ears.
"She's up!" a tall, dark-skinned woman from across the room quickly glanced at me, her lips shaped in a wide circle of surprise. "Guys, check her-"
"Where am I?" I interrupted. Panicking, I attempted to sit up. The pain was unbearable. Blood slowly poured out of my gut, trickling down the white hospital gown. I coughed up more and more blood, staining its pure color. It felt like I was choking on thin air.
"Oh, no. Sweetie, lay down. Lay down. Lay down, sweetie." Sweetie?
Reluctantly, I rested my head on a feathery pillow. I breathed out shakily. What happened? Where am I? What's with all the- I gasped in realization. Hospital gown. I studied my surroundings. Shocked doctors muttered in confusion, some walking in and out of the room. As the door swung close, I caught a glimpse of writing on the wall opposite to me. Medical City. . . Dallas. . . Hospital. I looked at a calendar hung beside one of the doctors, squinting to catch the words written across the tiny box. 8/7/16.
