Insomnia

19

Bluebonnets. Her Homespace. Going unconscious brought her into Somnus. But the connection was weak. The sun seemed dim. Her flowers were transparent. Her brain was too preoccupied trying to heal her body to spend much effort dreaming. She opened her personal data storage. All the files from the investigation were still there.

Esme forwarded them to Oz and Atticus. They could see things through from here. If she... didn't return.

Somnus often made it easier to pass on. It provided dreams curated from memory. Reminders of a life well lived. In these final moments, Esme wondered what she would choose to experience. Where would she go? With whom would she care to spend the last burning hours of life?

She had people to love. People who cared for her. But in here they weren't her only options. In Somnus, the possibilities were infinite.

Some chose to experience pure euphoria - direct and unending stimulation of the pleasure centers of the brain. It was a fair choice. Relief from pain. Others asked for dreams about family. Before illness. Without tragedy. Or dreams of childhood. Some pure day when life and all of its mysteries had yet to feel daunting - when the universe was small and cozy. There were also simpler dreams. An hour at a lake. A favorite nook of an old, long forgotten library. A breathless, anonymous night out in the city.

Esme had seen every combination of these. She'd visited the dreams of the dying. That those dreams were last did not make them more beautiful. Did not paint them with honesty. So many people thought that the dead were free from consequence. That their last words and acts were reflective of their truest selves. But how was that possible? How could one moment truly define a lifetime? It didn't make sense. It was unfair.

The memory came unbidden.

"May... I can't see you. Why? Where did you go?"

"I'm right here, mama. Please. I'm right here."

"...alone...Why? Why?"

There was truth in death, but it was not a full truth.

Sight left her once again.