It was something I said I'd never do. I had told even my mother that it was a stupid idea. Then, she had gone and done it herself, out of the curiosity that kills. I don't know what her dream was like and I hope to never know, but you can be certain that her demise came by car accident, because she never stepped foot in another car for the rest of her life... Consequentially, when she did die, at age eighty-seven, it was because of a car that rammed into the ambulance taking her to the hospital after a heart attack.

Now, though, I’ve been diagnosed with this illness and I can’t help wonder if that’s what will kill me. I am getting up there in years and the idea of the brutal treatment overwhelms me. What’s the use of that’s how I’m destined to die? I hold the bottle in my hand, thinking about the fear my mother lived with her whole life. Could I do it? Should I?

I was used to the oddness of old Mr. Mercer’s corner shop, but I never expected to find the weirdest substance I had ever encountered.

I had just gotten out of the hot bathtub and dressed in casual rainy weather clothing when I checked my little cabinet dedicated to Mr. Mercer’s concoctions and I saw that I was running low on my Potion of Youth stock. You see, they’re very important to me since I’m bordering on the age of 3. Centuries, that is, of course. 

Thunder boomed and lightning clapped and I clutched my wallet tightly, scurrying along the sidewalk to Mr. Mercer’s little shop on the corner. I entered, and the strong smell of the shop bombarded me. It always smelled dusty and unique.

I went to the third aisle of the little handcrafted wooden shelves and looked for the Potion of Youth. Mr. Mercer saw me and waddled up to me, his pudgy little potbelly hanging limply as he walked.

“Miss. Cardwell. How nice seeing you here!” He mumbled around a mouth full of sandwich, chewing rather impolitely. “Looking for a Youth Potion, I suppose?”

I nod slowly. 

“I’m sorry, Miss. Cardwell, but they’ve been selling like crazy. I’m sorry to tell you that they’re out of stock for the moment.” Seeing my crestfallen face, he pulls a little vial of cream out of his back pocket. “But this is one of my newer concoctions. You see, it shows you your future. But it’s only recently been developed so I don’t expect it to work well. You can have it for free if you promise me you’ll come back and tell me how it worked!”

I hesitate, then agree. “Alright, how does it work?”

   “You must put it on your eyelids before you go to sleep that night. Then you will dream of how your entire future will lay out.”

    I bite my lip and shakily take the vial from him. “Okay. Thanks, Mr. Mercer. Oh, and be sure to let me know when you have Youth Potions again! It would be horrible if I ran out of them…”

    He nods wistfully and waves half-heartedly as I leave. What’s going on? And does this mysterious future cream have anything to do with it? 

    That night I decide to try it out. I smear the cold, sand colored cream onto my eyelids and close my eyes, silently willing sleep to come because, for some reason, I’m super excited to try out the cream.

I wake up in the morning, sweating and crying, snot dripping down my nose. What in the world happened to me? Then it all comes flooding back… the dream. Apparently, it doesn’t show you your future. It just shows some horrible thing coming at you and… shudders

      I lead my day as usual, except on my way to work I take a detour to Mr. Mercer’s corner shop to tell him the results of the experiment. But then it seems I’m reliving my dream as a truck veers to the side of the road and crashes straight into me. The last thing I see before I go is Mr. Mercer’s regretful face.

From left to right, she trowelled on each rainbow. Her lids—though heavy, carried them with pride.

The colours that arched her sockets, would retell the stories of her life, in an unmemorable flash. And then—in slo-mo, her end would come.

'Dreamscape' had been on the private market for 12 months. One man's dream had a hefty price tag, with limited accessibility. And so, 'Dreamscape' was a quiet hope. It was the planet’s cure to combat depopulation.

Death was inevitable, but the solution was simple.

‘See death, and run.’

Leah penned a tick list, that soothed her 'quest for closure.' Much like crack soothes a junkie tick.

1. Not death by design.
2. Not too painful.
3. Not too traumatic.
4. Not too ordinary, that 'absence' will go unnoticed.

It wasn't much to ask for. Leah nestled into her feather pillow, and slow-blinked away the shadowy greys of obscurity.

Clambering out of bed, Leah's first thoughts were, 'Fluffy'.

As usual, Fluffy had perched her broad bushy butt on the edge of the kitchen table. With a sense of immediacy, Leah scraped some fish into a dish. She was in no mood to suffer a 'death by hungry cat.' That very thing had happened to a neighbour only two weeks ago.

Old and unattended, Mrs. Petunia had lost sight of the world and in silence, withered away.

‘Her’ little Fluffy had near lost its will to live. But by some miracle, it had found the flavoursome eyeball of Mrs. Petunia. And within 24 hours, her Fluffy had chomped its way to survival.

Leah appreciated the bigger picture. She was thankful for the ringside seat to an animal ‘deathscape.’ It wasn’t something she’d previously concocted, nor was it gifted by the ‘low men.’ It was the craftsmanship of a master-worker.

Impressed, Leah fast-forwarded to 'Dreamscape phase 3.'

Citrus yellow fused with burnt sienna, as Leah bathed in the sun's embryonic warmth. She slowed to take in the gift of morning glories. The only house in full colour, she welcomed the warm spring shimmers. Diamond droplets adorned the ground and crowned the low bent heads of its early risers. Scented flowers red-carpeted the garden path.

The rickety oaken gate extended its arm in welcoming speed. Flapping back and forth, it caterwauled a familiar morning pep talk. One that resembled the 'good morning' of an under-tipped concierge. It was hard to belly the bluster.

Cacophony was the gateway to Leah's hell. The highest register, dedicated to waking the sleepiest parts of her brain, did its job.

Beyond the gate, the world was grey, with an endless supply of cantankerous bodies.

Phases 4, 5, and 6 had jammed. The developers were working on the problem, without success.

Those 'intermediate' stages were an introduction to death—or possible deaths. Being too scared, could kill a man 'in-sleep.' The intention was to see the likelihood of dying, 'then run' into a state of consciousness.

Next, log the dream's contents, and avoid similar interactions in real life. Fatalities after 'visiting Dreamscape', were a curse, upon a curse.

Porsha Bryant was one such fatality. She had identified her own death, and with only one second before impact, woke. But that same day, she took the same cursed route, at the same time, with the same friends, and died.

Leah's foresight would be different. She thumbed on to phase 8

The usual screeches and clangs echoed through the adjacent streets. Vigilance was key. Although a feared 'way to go' amongst old and young alike, Leah didn't fear the 'Dun Dun Duuun!' (death by dangerous driving clang) that was sometimes haunted by a knell.

RTAs were a scourge on societal expansion. Their impact highlighted low birth rates. The dwindling society sought to stimulate an upturn within a quinquennium.

Leah weaved in and out, dodging users intent on hogging the road. Traffic was heavier than last time. There were the usual men on giraffes, and ants riding broomsticks. The tin clanking of bikes and motorcars signalled a fight for freedom, on that slender track.

Leah ducked and cheated the low-flying giant dragonflies. And she twisted about the terrifying flying pterodactyls.

But something had changed.

She stalked death with the swiftness of a cheetah and cunning of a fox, without breaking a sweat, or bouncing a curl.

Empowered, she felt on top. Not 'main protagonist' special, but she felt a 'little something' brewing.

Phase 10 seemed the next obvious choice of a champion.

Chestnut beetles scuttled between houses, scurrying in a frenzy of fizzled communication. Their incessant crazed activity, mirrored a cesspit of human suffering.

Exhausted, Leah sat in a huddled heap, Kerbside.

"Would you like a cup of tea—One lump or two?"

In a world of grey, Leah thought it only natural to paint her face with wide strokes of oat milk and rose hip tea. She felt refreshed.

"Another?" Pressed the flat, monotoned drawl of the hospitality elf.

As the warm herb coated her throat. Leah began to gag with a reflex so violent, it made the 1863 eruption of Krakatoa look like nothing more than a burp.

Her rainbow lids smudged to charcoal neutral. Her rapid fearful blinks were a scrambled silent scream for help.

About then, would have been the perfect time to tap her ruby heels and say “There’s no place like home.”

Or to give three fast blinks, three slow blinks, then three fast blinks. Everybody knows morse code right? But for Leah, there were no shortcuts left.

She could ‘see death,’ but her feet were fixed firm in Dreamscape’s donjon.

A veinal scarlet road map coated her bilging weepy onion eyeballs—balloons on the brink of a ‘POP.’

There was no phase 11 and no exit.

Without creating another scene, Leah slipped away, in a euphemism and a blurry-eyed mess, to the sluggish sandpaper licks of Fluffy.

What's dying like? Do we just fall asleep? Is it pain free? Do we sense the soul leaving the body? Do we even realise we're dead? Maybe we die every night And our dreams are the other world Where nothing makes sense. If so, are our nightmares hell? Will we, one day, live in our dreams forever?

(this is very off prompt and silly... long day :( )

Tell me love Let me know How I’ll sink To depths below Drop into Claws of death There I’ll rot Til time is spent Eternity Will mock me And you will Try to stop me But I’ll just Keep going I’ll sink You’ll be floating I reached the Ocean floor Where I could Inhale no more Drowning in Sorrows in Water in Deepest darkness

(This is another rushed story.)

After many months of watching commercials, seeing billboards and having random strangers asking to buy it, I have finally obliged. I’m going to try EyeCream, a product said to give you realistic visions of the future when you go to sleep. So realistic, it feels like a lucid dream.

After I laid down, I applied the cream to my shut eyelids and fell asleep. The cream worked within minutes. I awoke to find myself in a jail cell, although I don’t remember doing anything wrong. The cell opened, a guard was outside.

They said, “it’s time.”

Time for what? Just then, more guards came and grabbed my arms, dragging me into a room with a chair with straps. I was placed into the wooden chair and strapped down so I couldn’t escape. This seemed like an electric chair!

“Any last words?”

“Um… why am I here?”

Just then, the guard who first visited me got a needle with some type of liquid in it. My brain was injected with the liquid. This caused me to wake up in real life. I woke up from that horrid dream. But why does my body feel slimey?

I’ll finally do it. Science has surely evolved. Now we can now the cause of our death as a dream just by putting on some lotion in our eyelids before sleeping. My sister put in on a few weeks ago. Turns out she’ll go to hell by a car crash. She said she didn’t look that old in the dream. When she finally recovered from the reality check, she tried convincing me to put on the dammed lotion. I can’t say I wasn’t curious myself. The only reason I haven’t done it yet was because of my cowardice. I guess it’s time now. After washing my face, I take the lotion box in my hands. After over thinking for at least 20 minutes, I finally put it on. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep if I keep thinking like this.

I’m alone in my house. It’s dark. Am I running? Why do I look scared? I hear other footsteps. I’m still running until someone catches me. Someone turns me around but I’m not able to clearly see their face. They raise their other arm? What is that in their hand? Oh wait-. The person’s hand swiftly jerks towards me.

I jolt up. I can feel sweat in my forehead. I look around and I’m still in my room. Not knowing how to feel right now, I try to make sense of the dream. Did I get murdered? Will I get murdered? No. I can’t die like that. Who would even do that to me? I go down to the kitchen to get some water. I try not to make any sound but then remember I’m alone tonight. My parents are out for work and my sister has the night shift at the hospital. Wait. I’m alone tonight. The first thing I do is put on all the lights. That’s the first step to safety. At least in my opinion. I get water and run back upstairs to my room. Lights are gonna stay on no matter what. Until they won’t. The power went out. Does that even happen theses days? Okay. Today is the day I die. I hear footsteps behind me. My heart beat goes up. Okay. I knew this was coming. I know death is unavoidable. I know I can’t do anything against this. But the sad thing is no one will find my body until tomorrow. Even if there’s a chance that I wouldn’t die by the knife, it would still be too late until they find me. But I already knew that. I was always the unlucky one.

I wait hastily for a glimpse of my future.

My breath comes in shallow waves, chest rising and falling in panicked peaks. Sweat clings to the palms of my hands, glues the fabric of my shirt onto my back. I pace through a sterile white facility. Enclosed in this building is nothing more, nothing less than a vision of how I die. A vision of the entryway to beyond, the opening to infinity, the scene in which I gasp my last breath of air and cough my soul out of my body.

Few others bother to look at what lies ahead. I do now because I cannot ensnare the curiosity that runs rampant in my mind like a frightened creature.

I do not hesitate when my name is called forth.

The concoction is smeared across my eyelids by gloved hands, a clear, smooth oil that chills every bit of skin it comes in contact with. It weighs down on my eyes with a heaviness it shouldn't have.

I'm out before I can even let my mind loose to wander.

I feel my body falling, sliding, my hands scrabbling for purchase on weathered, decayed soil. I'm helpless until the incline spits me up onto level ground. I groan. My eyes beam open to a tangled mass of deep green leaves and gnarled vines- a forest. Bright orchids bloom across the terrain like ships dotting a harbor.

I push my way through the thickly woven greenery, headed nowhere. Gradually, gradually, the trees grow more sparse, until I happen upon a small clearing framed by curling ferns.

At the center of the clearing sits a cobblestone well, a clock perched on its edges, hands prodding ten and two. As I inch closer and closer to the structure, it flickers and glimmers like a mirage. Grisly scenes of death shimmer in its place- a neck tightly gripped by a fraying rope, a spatter of blood on a windshield, a knife swimming in a young man's chest. The gruesome succession of images flies by faster, faster, until at last it stops at a single picture.

I squint, stare, gape at the portrait that appears. A crimson fire rages, devours a forest of trees, turning all to blackened stumps. A corpse lies in front, its skin badly burned and charred. And beside it- the cobblestone well that had been sitting in front of me not seconds ago.

My eyes shoot open in the spotless white facility. I collapse to the ground, my future no longer a mystery.

I wake up on my bed. (Just like any other normal day.) I begin to get ready to school. I wear a red tank top with a black leather shirt. The shoes I am wearing in my dream are “punk” boots. I get on the school bus and as usual the driver smiles at me as he say, “well good morning young lady.” The kids on the bus seem to be sick. Not in a cough cough way. They look like the need help. Each of them are wearing the same thing. A grayish shirt with either a darker gray shirt or pants. Their eyes are looking straight forward. They have no emotion other than what I would call numb. I arrive to school go to my 1st, 2nd, and 3rd periods. But 4th seems off. The teach looks scared. Not fear more so of scared of being caught. Good heavens knows what. I begin to walk out of class when I hear a little girl scream followed by a gun shot. There are hundreds of kids in the hallway panicking. I here another and another shot. I’m running away from the noises. When I notice one of the lockers open. I stand still while I see kids running around me. Kids screaming if horror. Shot after shot. Without thinking I run to the open locker. I manage to squeeze myself into it. I can’t lock it from the inside so I just sit there. Closing my eyes as I hear kids falling to the ground. When soon I hear no more shots. No more screams. I sit there in disbelief. They’re all dead. I peek through the little slides in the locker. Two eyes stare at me. Then….SHOT. I wake up from my dream.

I try cleaning the kitchen to keep my mind occupied. Today is the day I get the phone call. Do I have cancer or don’t I? I try no to look at the mole on my fore arm that has doubled in size over the past six months. It’s hard to believe that something so mundane could be so life changing. I never really thought about moles at all and now I can’t keep my mind off of it.

Bzzz

I scramble into my pocket to pull out my cell phone.

Hello?

Hello is this Cassandra hill?

Yes

Date of birth please.

4/12/88

Thank you. I have the results from your biopsy. You requested the results over the phone correct?

Yes I did.

The results are third stage cancer positive. Dr brown wants to schedule a follow up appointment for a plan of action.

I figured the results would be positive. Still, I wasn’t prepared. I don’t know how to react.

Hello?

Yes thank you.

Once I set up the appointment, my mind just goes into over drive. Surgery? Chemo? What options do I have? What kind of life should I choose? Quantity vs quality? Will I survive this? Are there alternatives? Will it be worth it in the end? Will I live?

Ping

I assumed the appointment for the drs showed in my email so I bend my head down to look. Nope. It’s an add. Friggin a. Don’t I have enough to deal…. Wait a minute. I couldn’t believe the fortuitous nonsense claim I have ever seen in my life. It says:

Revolutionary. Finally a true product… that can show how you die! No more second guessing the future!

I guess the internet is not only listening in on our conversations but it can read minds too! Hmm makes sense (insert sarcasm). Still….

Yes I ordered it. What have I got to lose? And it came almost immediately, like the the afternoon of the morning I ordered it. Have I used it? Not yet. After all, is my death really something I want to see? I have until the day after tomorrow to decide. That’s when my dr and I will discuss treatment options. Maybe tonight’s the night.

I read the instruction label. Just add three drops of water to powder then place liberally over each eye lid. I stared at that thing for two hours. I was just trying to imagine what it would be like watching myself die. At least not knowing I have some shrivel of hope that the treatments will work. Is that what living is really about? Hope? I can’t do it tonight. I just can’t.

I slept soundly and even peacefully last night after I made the decision not to use the stuff. I even congratulated myself on finding the real meaning of life. But tonight is different. Tonight I have to know. Isn’t life about discovering and finding answers? So I did it. Three drops of water and I applied the stuff on liberally. I fell asleep immediately.

I can’t say I slept well. I can say that I walked to the dr office confident. Whatever we came up with for a plan was going to work.

Now I just have to keep myself from falling in love with him… the doctor…. My murderer.