Sunlit skies started off as... What do you call a doodle but with writing instead of art because that's what it was. It was like I was cleansing my palate for a real book and then I was pleasantly surprised that it, itself, could make an actually adequate short story.

Sunlit skies.

Sunlit skies reach about overhead. She lies beneath the silent waking moon, burning with it's gaze. She stands and stares. The clouds rustle like autumn leaves. She wonders. It means nothing. She gasps a mighty gale. Mind spinning. World moving faster than a blink of an eye. It is all so beautiful. She has forgotten what she is reaching for. Dazed cauliflower twinkle in the scarlet moon. A broken world isn't so bad after all.

Swimming eagles tend to prefer the swim. Well, it just makes sense. Didn't she have to... What was that? Something jets past her ear. Mushrooms sway with newborn fatality. Mesh. It is broken. What? Who? Who said that?

Never mind. She will surely... Time. It is time for something. A winged fish flies into the sun. She is burning up. Oh dear. It seems that was unpredicted.
Time of death. No, I won't let her die. We waited too long ; lack of oxygen to the brain left permanent...
Who said that?

Rogue skies dip below the horizon and the seas spreads a sickening blue up up and shining stars like suns. They are suns. Aren't they? Where is she?
We need to call it. Don't. Please. She is still alive.
Who said that? She dives under water, away from the voices but every time she leaves somehow she comes back. Desert. The desert. Where is her ocean? Her? Who said that?

Need to breathe. Ocean was a bad idea. She should try... flying. If not walk, swim, if not swim... Fly. Fly. She must fly. Where would... Remember? Glimpses of sanity. Taunting her and rubbing salt into future wounds but she is not wounded. Is she? She is crying. White fluorescent lights. People crying. Why is everyone crying?
Are you ready to pull the plug?

Who said that?
I can't let her die.
Who said that? You're ruining the peaceful ripple in the air. Is it a heatwave? Tornado? Wind? Does it matter? She flies above a crystal moon. Stalagmites reach for her, poking her. Ow! Quit it. I'm trying to enjoy a peaceful space walk. Space. That is what she needs. Not to breathe but infinite space. Infinite space means infinity. Which means infinite happiness. It may also mean infinite sadness but sadness it so much...

What was that? A buzz. Buzz... What does it mean? Why does everyone always want to know
why... She lies on a glazed table staring at the ceiling like she is staring at the midnight sky. Mosquito. Slap! Outside. She is outside.
Please, you don't know. She could...

Who was that? They keep interrupting. Didn't anyone ever teach them manners? Well, if it makes a difference I... she... is eating hearts with bare fingers. So sticky. Blood drips unforgiving but she consumes them anyway. One gulp. Like a grape. No, not a grape, she could choke. Like a pill.
Just let us say good bye... Okay. But, every minute this room could be used for someone else and we have patients every...
Stop talking. They interrupt the silence. I can't... She can't hear the silence if it isn't there. Common sense. Let's hope it isn't scared away for good.

Where was she? Ah, yes, scuba diving in canyons. A little like sinking except much faster with less hope of survival and more comparisons to falling...
BP dropping. We need to incubate...
I don't want to tell you again. This is no joke. People's... people... person's life is at stake. We need to...

Have you really...
Quiet. Be quiet! The orchestra gets paid every seven minutes and if you aren't quiet we'll miss them. There they go, fast as a...
Just give us a second! We need this machine...
Do I have to imprison you? She watches the orchestra melt. She preferred the one that played the snake but she knows the rules. Only one orchestra at a time and if they didn't melt where would the wages go? Trade unions would loose it.

What is that beeping? What a racket. She will chop off their heads if the queen has anything to say. Silence all...
Okay. We're ready.
Who? What? What did you say? Ready for what? Go away princess Swanella we have no room for poultry. No. No, wait. Don't shut me off. Who will rule the fair land of Camelot? She stares wide eyed as the air exits her lungs and the clarinet stabs her in the back.

“Always knew clarinets would get the better of me.”

“I always thought it would be a trombone.”

“Now you're just being silly. Shut up and eat the nachos.”

“Nachos? Who's silly now?”

“I guess it's too late to turn back now. I'm dead aren't I? If this is dead I can't say I'm all too happy about it.”

“PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE WITH MY LIES!”

“But, aren't you already alone.”

“I don't know. I swear I wasn't always alone.”

“That could just be your insanity talking.”

“Insanity?”

“Oh, you didn't know? Awkward...”

“Jesus! Am I mad?”

“You could be sane if you know you're mad.”

“What?”

“I know.”

“This is really worrying me. I mean, where is everything? All there is, is my voice, my thoughts, and your voice. Where are my hands? Where is Swanella?”

“Who?”

“Someone from my past. My? Who are you?”

“I'm not sure. I thought you'd know.”

“Stop talking to me, you're probably a symptom of my insanity.”

“But, then who will you talk to, yourself... Isn't the first sign of insanity talking to yourself?”

“You're confusing me.”

“Sorry. I don't mean to be a nuisance.”

“Some things can't be helped.”

“I didn't mean anything by it.”

“By what?”

“Crazy.”

“That's just not nice.”

“If I'm just a symptom of you that means I'm a part of you and in essence you so you're not being nice.”

“What?”

“Exactly.”

Maniacal laughter floods her mind and in her last moments of false hope she sees a crystal moon crashing into the Earth. What a train wreck? She thinks.

THE END.