Words whispered just shy of my ear, as though on the edge of my peripherals. A shiver and goosebumps were my reaction, as I turn to find no one in the seat behind me.

Commuting via bus to work. Bleary eyed, my mind justified the experience one of fatigue due to my late night reading. Unable to end on a cliff hanger I had started the next in the series rather then call it a night. Being now Friday, rest and relaxation awaited me tomorrow, nothing planned for the weekend. I tried to focus on that, rather than the voice now replaying in my head.

It was lunchtime when that raspy voice came again. ‘Don’t wake in the world where the trees all died.’

Empty. Not a single soul in the tearoom around me. I had the same reaction as before, turning to see nothing as a sense of coldness came over me.

“Some sleep,” I say out loud, “I just need sleep that’s all.” I shake my head, and poor myself another coffee. Four hours, that’s all, then home. Just hold it together four more house. As though echoing in my brain, the words repeated.

I felt sick. Anything supernatural I considered rediculous, woo-woo, but I felt as though someone followed me. That voice; nobody’s there. My mind raced to the worst possible outcome of my scientificully minded brain; Schizophrenia.

Voices on the edge of hearing.

Medication.

My life would change for ever.

I would give it a day. Maybe two. I had to be sure before consulting a doctor. To be hauled away to a madhouse. Nightmares I’d never considered appeared as possible futures.

‘Don’t wake in the world where the trees all died.’

I had found my way home when I heard the voice yet again over my shoulder. I didn’t check this time. I knew no one was there. Opening my door I made my way to my bedroom. All day my mind had been circling around the nonsensical, illogical statement. Now, in my bed, the place I had considered my haven throughout the day, the place that would yield results against the insessent murmurs, failed me. Tears began to trickle onto my pillow as the words echoed:

‘Don’t wake in the world where the trees all died.’

All night, beleagured by the words. Any distraction would segue back to the now consistent chant. At some point, I know not what time for the memory of looking at my watch had been drowned out by the voice, I had given into rage and started punching my pillows. Punching walls. Punching myself.

The bruises salved my mind for a short spell, but never for long. Again my mind would latch on to the rat wheel squeaking in my head.

Time warped. Day and night blurred and I knew not what day. All I knew is sleep alluded me, and the words still came. I was too weak to do anything. Food or drink just seemed unimportant. A lay, trying in vein to sleep, bruised and battered from my own hands. Aching.

My only companion:

‘Don’t wake in the world where the trees are dead’

Finally, my mind shut down, and the voice, the warning, stopped; and the nightmare began.

Sulfur, the smell strong on the haze surrounding me. A awoke in an apocalyptic forest, trees creaking, rasping for air like me, as my throat burned. Twisting trunks, with charcoaled cracking bark, reached for the red hued sky.

Struggling to stand in my weak state, I start coughing and claw at my throat, every paroxysm seering me.

“Don’t wake in the world where the trees all died, for you will die as well,” came a familiar voice, clearer than ever before.

I turn to find a cloaked figure, swathed in black robes with the hems singed. A reaper? Death?

A marred hand, seeping with burns protruded from his sleeve to pull down his hood, revealing a half melted face frozen in a perpetual grimace covered with soot.