A Chat with Death

A Chat with Death - D.C. King

Sean was lying in a field of pale grass.

He sat up, confused of the suddenness of the scenery. How was he suddenly just... here? He looked down at his hands, which were lying at his side. His fingers seemed to flutter like the tall foliage that surrounded him, almost like vapor. I'm dreaming. He realized and calmed down. He must have fallen asleep in the car. He was in the passenger seat, his dad was in the driver seat, he could remember.

He stood up, studying what he saw. What he saw was hills of pale-yellow grass up to his waist. All the way out to where the horizon met the clear blue sky, the warm sun hanging high. He turned around to examine the other side. Besides the prairie, he saw an old log cabin with a plume of smoke exiting a chimney, excitingly vibrant brown wood contrasting the harmonious, calm grass. Seeing nowhere else for him to go, Sean began walking in the general direction of the house.

The plants scrapped past him as he walked through it, occasionally snagging on his denim pants and dark olive shirt. As the cabin grew closer into view, Sean could spot a musty window and a door with a shiny brass handle. It was walnut wood, he guessed, maybe oak. When he got to the door of the cabin, he knocked on it.

Clk clk clk.

No answer.

He reached down and grabbed the brass handle, heated by the sunlight, and twisted it open, letting the door open loosely. He peered inside.

A neat table was stationed in the center of the room, a cup of what looked like coffee or hot cocoa in front of one chair. Another chair was across from it. Both plain wood, along with the table; wood. A rug covered the bottom of the room, a deep maroon. On the other end of the room was a fireplace, a fire cracking atop wood, somehow undamaged by the flame. At this point, Sean was beginning to notice that wood was a reoccurring thing in this dream.

He walked into the room and sat in the seat with the drink, closing the door behind him. A beam of sunlight reached from the window and landed promptly on the wooden table, illuminating it. He picked up the cup and took a sip of it. The taste of warm chocolate flooded over his tongue and soothed his body. Hot chocolate; it was definitely hot chocolate.

It was a fairly relaxing dream so far; cozy little cabin, hot chocolate, warm fireplace. All that was needed was some slow music.

A record player began playing on the table, like it had always been there before, playing what sounded like a piece by Debussy or Chopin. Ah, he thought, It's one of those dreams. It was one of the dreams where you could imagine anything, and poof, there it is.

He sat there for a moment, taking in the peace and quiet that he was experiencing. The familiar feeling of Zen began to settle on him like a blanket, soft and comfortable. This hue of gentleness lingered fresh still. The fire in the fireplace cracked softly. Sean's unfinished cup of chocolate steamed in the sunbeam.

His mind began shifting from focusing on the cabin to drifting into thoughts of the past day. He had left his home to go to a family reunion in Idaho. He couldn't even remember the name of the city. The get-together was in an outdoor park, with barbeques and sweets, trees and lakes, children and seniors. His father had driven him there. It was the first time in years that was able to see his mother. He was specifically fond of his grandpa. The old man's hair and chin must've swapped, as every time he was him, he would have a wiry white beard, like a wizard. After the evening, his dad had began driving him back to their home in Montana. Sean had remembered asking to go back, but being shot down with, "We wouldn't be able to find a place to stay," and besides, they weren't ready for a night away from home.