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.