Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
I’m in the middle of the pasture, and there, under the lone oak tree, is Wade. He’s younger, maybe fourteen, his face full of that mischievous energy he always had. He’s wearing his favorite blue shirt, the one he always insisted was his lucky charm. He waves at me, a wide grin on his face.
“Trey, come on!” he calls, his voice echoing strangely in the dreamscape.
I walk toward him, my steps heavy, the ground feeling like it’s shifting beneath my feet. As I get closer, the oak tree transforms, its branches twisting and curling into strange shapes, forming a canopy that seems to stretch into infinity.
Wade is now sitting on a swing hanging from one of the branches, pushing himself back and forth with the exuberance of a five-year-old, but now he’s the same age as when he died. “Remember when we used to play here?” he asks, his eyes twinkling with a mix of nostalgia and something I can’t quite place.
“Yeah, I remember,” I say, my voice sounding distant to my own ears. “We had a lot of good times here.”
He nods, still swinging, but his expression shifts, becoming more serious. “You’ve got a choice to make, Trey,” he says, his tone cryptic. “You always do.”
“What choice?” I ask, unease creeping in.
Wade jumps off the swing, landing lightly on his feet. He gestures to two paths that suddenly appear, diverging from where we stand. One path is bathed in golden light, the other shrouded in shadow.
It feels cliché and I don’t trust it.
“The path of memory,” he says, pointing to the shadowed path, “and the path of love,” he continues, indicating the golden one. “Which will you choose?”
I look at the paths, then back at Wade. “I don’t understand. I’ve already made my choice.”
He smiles, but it’s tinged with sadness. “You can hold on to the past, to the guilt and the memories of what was lost, or you can move forward with love, with Holland. But you can’t have both, Trey.”
I know I can’t have both. I’d already concluded that and broke things off with Holland. I’m disappointed in Wade, that he can’t be more original. I’m disappointed he’s not proud of my decision or at least a little fucking grateful.
The dream shifts again, and I’m standing alone in a field of tall grass. Wade is gone, but his words linger in the air. The sky above me is now a swirling mass of clouds, forming shapes and patterns that are almost recognizable but slip away as soon as I try to focus.
A horse appears, galloping toward me from the golden path. It stops in front of me, its eyes deep and knowing. It speaks, though its mouth doesn’t move, its voice resonating in my mind. It sounds like James Earl Jones, which lends some credibility to the words. That man always sounds like he knows what he’s talking about. “The past is heavy as an elephant and light as a feather.”
That makes… no sense at all.
From the shadowed path, a different figure emerges. It’s Wade again, but older this time—as old as our father actually—his face lined with the years he’ll never actually get to live. He looks at me with a mixture of disappointment and understanding. “The past is heavy as an elephant—”
“Yes, I know,” I say churlishly. “And light as a feather.”
“Actually, as light as a slice of American cheese, but semantics.” Wade’s eyes twinkle, making him look younger and more vibrant. A dull ache forms in my chest because I miss him so fucking much.
“I have to tell you,” he drawls, looking around at the bizarre scenery. “I commend you for what you did.”
I frown. “What I did?”
He nods. “Yeah… dumping Holland. Heavy as an elephant. She was no good for you and look what she did to me. I’d still be here if it weren’t for her.”
“No,” I growl in anger. “It wasn’t her fault. She had nothing to do with your death. It was all me.”
“Well, look at you,” he chides. “Trying to turn elephants into American cheese.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?” I yell in frustration, pulling at my hair. “You said I have to make a choice, but I don’t understand what my options are.”
I turn to look at the two paths again, but now they’re gone.
My choices are gone.
Wade starts to fade, turning translucent. “Wait. Don’t go. I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”
He gets filmier, eyes boring into me as he disappears.
“Wait,” I demand, holding out my hands. “Tell me what to do.”
I can barely see him now, but he waves his hands where the two paths were. “It’s too late,” he says so faintly, it’s a whisper on the wind. “You already made your choice.”
I wake up with a start, my heart pounding, the remnants of the dream clinging to my mind like cobwebs. My bedroom is dark and silent, the only sound my ragged gasps for air. I lie there, trying to make sense of the dream, but it slips away, just out of reach until I can’t really remember the details.