Spirit of the King

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I saw verdant fields stretching horizon to horizon, endless as far as vision reached. A tender breeze pushed waves across flowers of red and blue and yellow and more. No clouds crowded the bright, sunless sky and the lone sound of delicate birdsong was the only thing disturbing the silent calm.

Paradise.

But it’s all gone now, replaced by darkness. No song of birds. No flowery perfume. No indescribable colors. No sky. I can’t tell if I’m awake and blind, asleep and dreaming, or dead yet somehow aware. My arms and legs feel nothing, as though they may not even exist. My mouth makes no sounds, if I have a mouth. I do not breathe. There are only these words in my head and the longing to return to that infinite field.

The blackness is complete. It surrounds me and fills me, holds me fast, floating in nothing, like a leaf fallen on a lake and frozen in place by a winter wind. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know what I am.

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