The sound of a door snapping open and shut wakes me, pulling me up from a dream no longer frightening. Still, it takes a moment for the roar in my ears to fade and my eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room. As well as providing the only source of illumination, the only decorations are the slashes of light shining through the window blinds. The bland room boasts nothing but a bed and a couch. I sit up to greet my hesitant visitor, who still stands in the doorway, and place my bare feet on the cold, tile floor.
She looks to be about 50 years old, her graying hair falling out of a bun tied at the back of her head. She has been coming to see me every morning for the past week, yet I don’t know who she is, or why she’s here, aside from asking questions. As she walks in and sits on the couch, before I lose my certainty, I break my silence and say simply, “I think I’d like to tell you something.”
She very nearly gasps in surprise, her eyes slightly widened even as she tries to hide it. “Alright.” I may as well have been a broken doll, the way she looks at me now. Not dangerous, surely, but not right either. This is the first time I’ve spoken the whole time I’ve been here, and my voice crack with disuse.
I stand up, walking around the couch to the window, her eyes never leaving me. “The world. It died, and there was nothing I could do.” I gaze through the blinds out at the courtyard, my eyes sliding across the trees and swing-set. “You were going to ask me about my dreams again, weren't you?”
She quickly recovers, “Well, yes, actually, I would very much like to hear about about them.” She says, pulling a pen out of her coat pocket, pressing it to her clipboard.
I glance back, but I don’t move from my spot by the window. “Why do you want to know?” It doesn’t really matter to me, I’ve already decided to tell her, but still, I’m hesitant with distrust.
Instead of answering, she looks down, checking the time on her broken watch, pretending to be relaxed. “You wouldn’t talk to me yesterday, or the week before that. Why now? Why is it so important?”
“I suppose… In order to gain information, one must first offer it.”
She nods slowly, and sits back into the cushions, eyes focused, waiting for me to continue on my own.
“I knew it was going to happen,” I say, after a few moments, “I think I was one of only a few who did.”
“How did you know?” She asks quietly, determined not to spook me back into my silence.
“I’m not sure. It was a fact that was simply there.” I hesitate, searching for the right words to describe my dream. I can’t remember the last time I had spoken. Or could I? “There was nothing that could be done.”
I speak slowly and quietly, never looking away from the courtyard. “I… I remember walking along a path, in a park maybe, looking into the river and hearing children laughing and dogs barking. There were couples here and there, enjoying the sunny afternoon, some families, too. As I look up, the sky changes from blue to an angry red and orange.”
I shiver. As familiar as the dream has become, recalling it from memory on purpose is different. My visitor is patient, seeming to be fully engrossed in my story. Her hands pick at the frayed bits of cloth where her name might have been sewn onto her white coat. It had been torn off. I hadn’t noticed that before.
Cautiously, I continue. “Laughter turns to screams as the ground shakes and groans. The wind changes direction, it feels like it’s being sucked right into the cracks beneath my feet.” The dream comes like a tidal wave. To say I had gotten used to it would have been a lie, I had simply buried it. Until now. It’s as if the room has disappeared, the woman never even there in the first place. “My ears explode and I feel a horrible pain in my chest, as if I’m being crushed.”
My voice is rough, my throat sore. I realize I’m sitting on the bed, the woman right next to me, her arm hovering over my shoulders. Did I fall?
“Just as the red sky begins to fade, people realize that the sun looks much bigger than before. It keeps growing until it seems to swallow the Earth. Those who are still alive feel heat beyond imagination, and see the sky flowing with yellow and orange.” Tears well up in my eyes, though in my mind, they evaporate before they can run down my face. I am not scared anymore, not even surprised. I knew this was going to happen, and yet I have never been more afraid. Or have I? I’m shaking, but I’m not really sure why.
“I clutch my throat and attempt to continue my walk along the now dried up river bed. The whole world is on fire. I know that will not survive much longer, that the pain will not stay, but I still try to get to the little arched bridge that crossed the river up ahead. As I reach it, it catches fire, and I fall…”
* * *

When I finally wake up, it’s morning again, and the women is already sitting, leafing through the pages on her clipboard. My head aches, my whole body stings and burns.
“What happened?” I sit up slowly, inspecting the skin on my arms and legs, looking for injuries. The pain is still there, but I find no reason for it. I’m perfectly fine. Instead, I roll my fingertips into my temples, trying the alleviate my headache.
The woman stands, walking to the foot of my bed.“You passed out.” She says simply.
I think that much is obvious enough… “Why?” I let my hands fall, aiming a glare in her direction. I never should have told her about my dream, why did I have to tell her?
“Because, I imagine, you don’t want to remember.”
“What do I not want to remember…?” My voice is barely above a whisper, my hands shaking in my lap. “What happened?”
Nothing. She stands there, silent as a statue, her normally blank eyes full of… Sorrow. She wants to help, but she can’t. My frustration burns to anger.
“Why won’t you help me? What happened!” I’m no longer asking, I need to be told something, anything. In an instant, I’ve leaped out of the bed, circling around to where she stands. I reach for her arm, but my hand grasps at empty air.
She’s gone.
“What’s going on…” My knees give out, the blank room suddenly so opressingly empty.
A fire...
I’m clinging to the bedpost, holding myself steady amidst a horrendous surge of vertigo. “Who’s there?”
There was a fire…
“What?”
My world is ending… The fire… I’m sorry…
I curl up on the floor, my hand clasping over my ears, trying the block it out, but the words are ringing in my head, not the air. An image flashes over my closed eyes, a burning house, the sound of a scream. My skin aches, burning with a newfound heat. “What happened?!”
I…
“Who are you?!” I’m weeping, my tears wetting the hair in my eyes, making it hard to see. Or maybe the room itself is getting blurry. I can’t tell.
It wasn’t my fault…
“What wasn’t your fault? Who are you?” I claw at my eyes, wiping tears away, willing the room to right itself. It twists and heaves, blurring and focusing in and out, hurting my head.
“Where am I?” I never asked that question before… I had never thought about it… “What am I doing here?”
The fire…
“Stop talking about the fire! What am I doing here?!”
Burning…
I look down at my arms, my aching flesh turning an angry red. I was burned. “What happend to me?”
You… Or me…
“I… I don’t understand…” My whole body is burning, stinging relentlessly as if I were still on fire, still burning. “Who am I…? The house…”
But that was me… I was playing, there was a candle… I knocked it over? The fire… my home… It was my fault…
“It was my fault… It was my home... “ The memories rush into my head, roaring and crackling like a forest fire. It was my home that burned down…
The room fades, the stripes on light across the floor sliding away, “Where am I? How long have I been here?” The answer come quickly, responding in my own voice, echoing in my mind. It had been me the whole time.
You never were...