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This Life

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"So, how does it feel? Waking up to your life everyday, knowing what you know?"

"I don't know. Couldn't imagine that the answer would be any different from anyone else's if I did."

"You're saying that everything you've experienced is as relevant as anyone else's experiences in the world?"

"I guess."

"Interesting. Your self-worth, in turn, being just as important as mine."

"Yeah."

"Everything we do, say, see, feel...ultimately impacting someone else. Like dominoes."

"Yes."

"Separate and connected."

"Yes."

"How connected do you feel?"

"I don't know."

"Are you awake?"

"I guess."

"So, you're alive."

"Yes, of course. I don't know who you are, or where I am. But I'm conscious. I'll remember this."

"What makes you so sure? You don't know who I am or where you are."

"I'll remember how I feel now. You don't have to open your eyes to see."

"What happens if you don't remember? If you don't wake up?"

"I will."

"What if you're already awake?"

That would be ridiculous. This couldn't be reality.

"Maybe it isn't yours. But it could be mine."

"What?"

"It's different for everyone. I'm surprised you haven't seen her yet, either way."

"Who?"

"The little girl. Two light brown ponytails on either side of her head. Dark blue eyes, sweet red lips. Green tank top with blue jean shorts riding down a street in a little suburb on a beautiful day, enjoying the sun's warm embrace and the freedom of a weekend without homework, on her bicycle the same color as her haunting, timeless eyes."

"What is this?"

"I'm surprised you haven't seen the red mustang racing down that same street. But I suppose it was going too fast to really take a good look, yes?"

"Who are you?"

"Who could've had a chance against someone with a fifth of Everclear in their stomach and no reason to live, driving down a street as fast? Not that little girl."

"Stop."

"No, not her. Someone who loved riding in the wide open space of the street and hated the narrow restriction of a sidewalk. Someone who thought they could cross the street one time without their parent's help."

"Stop, please."

"Who would've had time to save her? Not me. Not herself. What do you think was going through her mind she looked to her left and saw her death? The same thing that goes through a person's mind when they're two seconds away from hitting the pavement face first from the top of a ten story building, or getting fried in an electric chair?"

"I'm sorry."

"The same thing that went through that person's mind after they killed that little girl and drove away, knowing that even if they were never caught, their life ended when hers did?"

"I'm so sorry."

"Separate and connected, right? Maybe it's exactly the same as it is completely different."

"Is this hell?"

"Maybe. Maybe it's your hell, maybe it's mine. Maybe it's heaven in a way. Or maybe, we're just trapped in our own minds."

"I can't breathe anymore. I can't move my arms and legs. My heart...isn't beating. I miss the feeling of it pounding against my chest."

"Yes."

"How do I escape?"

"Look to your left, sweetheart."

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