I don't own.

He had the same dream every night. It always started the same way.

All he could see was white. Thick, creamy, pure white. It was simply that; white. Yet it wasn't. How could something that wasn't there have colour? Then there was red. It seemed to expand, filling his line of sight with each and every light that held the colour. Its lush texture seemed to call out to him, begging, pleading for something.

Then it began to shrink. Slowly fading into the white that wasn't there. As it grew smaller, he reached out to touch it. His hand fell through the dense colour, but he couldn't feel anything. It was bottomless, an abyss that was swallowing him whole.

He saw his body being taken in by the enormous mass of red. Still he couldn't feel it. And he couldn't look away. All he saw was that same abundant shade of red. It seemed to be growing once more. He knew he was falling.

Attempting to take hold of the growingly obnoxious colour, he groped, searching for something to recognize, to find something else to feel. But all he could perceive was that beautiful red. It teased him. Letting in gaps of white here and there, closing up its walls each time he outstretched his hand. It seemed to grow tighter, and he feared he would die of asphyxiation.

Suddenly the red let loose of its grip on him. The charming colour seemed to melt off of him. Like oil in water they separated. Once more, he felt the urge to reach out to it.

He needed it. It was oxygen; and he was drowning, desperately trying to reach the surface.

Again, it seemed to shrink once more, following a twisted pattern. The red grew smaller in his line of sight. He didn't dare blink. And like a puppet on a string, he reached out once more. His arm outstretched in the air, steadily getting closer to the red, afraid it would devour him once more, or worse; that it would run away.

Finally when he should have touched it, his hand fell limp, just like before. The red faded faster and faster, blending into its white surroundings.

Each time he yelled out, praying for it to come back, for forgiveness, for something. He couldn't chase it. He could gaze at it longingly, watch it sluggishly leave him, but it couldn't convince it to stay.

As quickly as it had appeared, it vanished. He had failed.


Up to your own interpretation. Hope you have reached some conclusion.

Reviews are lovely. Comments and constructive criticism welcome.