Red Rain Alina Yuan ‘22
I open my eyes slightly. In the hospital, there are white walls, a white ceiling, white sheets,and numerous machines connected to me through tubes. I hear a faint beeping somewhere to my left. My pillow and sheets reek of disinfectant. I turn my head slightly to the right. I see the doctor whispering something to my mother. She nods, her eyes blank. She squeezesmy hand lightly as tears well up in her eyes. I don’t understand why she’s crying. It’s not like I’m dying or anything. They told me they would cure me in no time. They told me the illness wasn’t even that severe. They told me I was getting better every day. Why is she crying? I have a strong urge to sleep. The aggravating beeping noise fades into the background as I sink back into my pillow that stinks of disinfectant. To the right I see my mother slide off her chair, kneeling on the ground, her head next to my arm. The doctor stands next to her alongside a few nurses, his head down, and I can’t see his eyes. She is shaking intensely, sobbing loudly. She thinks I’m dying. I’m too tired to tell her it’s alright. I close my eyes and fall asleep. Thousands of images flash in front of me. I see memories I had forgotten from when I was only an infant. I see myself with my friends destroying cars, vandalizing houses, robbing the local convenience store. I hear a shrill shrieking and a deafening cracking sound, like someone crushing bones, and my hand feelstingly, as if I’ve been gripping something tightly for a long time. I get the sensation that I am sitting in a puddle of something warm. After a few minutes, they had all faded away. What an interestingly familiar dream. I’ll make sure to tell my mother about it when I wake up. I am falling down now, surrounded by a golden atmosphere, my white hospital gown flapping in the air. I am enveloped by the warm light and I relax as if I am in my mother’s welcoming arms. I land on a white road. Above is the golden, cloudless sky. Below is a dark pit, emitting loud screams every few seconds. There are multiple paths leading to a huge floating ring of waterfalls. In each waterfall is an elderly man or woman standing beneath a gateway and behind a black marble bowl on a black marble stand. Periodically, each waterfall turns blood red, light blue, or lavender purple, then back to normal. Above me more people fall from the golden sky onto the roads. Some are wearing old sweaters and spectacles, some are wearing sweatshirts with band names on them, some are wearing sneakers. I walk forward to the stand. The elderly man in the waterfall greets me and hands me a needle. I look into the bowl. All I see is water, rippling and swirling of its own accord. I see the word “afterlife” engraved in the bottom of the bowl. He motions at me to prick my finger with the needle. The person on my right does the same, and the blood drips into the bowl. The waterfall turns blue, and he floats up into the golden sky. Tomy left, the waterfall turns purple, and she goes forward into the gateway. I pick up the needle and prick my finger. When the drop hits the water, the floor beneath me vanishes, and as I fall, I can only see the red water raining down on me as the screams of pain grow louder in my ears.
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