"The best thing about dreams is that fleeting moment, when you are between asleep and awake, when you don't know the difference between reality and fantasy, when for just that one moment you feel with your entire soul that the dream is reality, and it really happened."


Within the mind of Taemin

There is no sunlight in this place. The lack of efficient lighting makes the dirt-stained whitewashed walls seem malicious and uninviting. My eyes wander around the room, hopelessly searching for any shred of ethereal space.

"And why are you here, Lee Taemin?"

The words echo lifelessly in my ears. I look down at the grimy tile floor and realize that, unsurprisingly, it is every bit as dark as the walls. I nervously fold my hands, close my eyes, and try to imagine that I am standing before the sunrise, smelling the pleasant freshness of the morning air.

"Lee Taemin? LEE TAEMIN? Come now, Lee Taemin. Open your eyes."

I hear the words as they are spoken. I try to do as I am instructed, but the unyielding claws of my imagination refuse to release my conscious mind from their grasp.

"Now, Lee Taemin. Right now."

As the sun peaks from the horizon, I close my eyes and breathe in the sweetness of a new day. In this moment, I feel serene. As I slowly fall to my knees and rest my head on the slightly damp grass, all the noises of the world cease to exist, and the beauty of the morning captivates me.
 

"Lee Taemin! Do as I say!"

The words pierce my ears like quicksilver. I open my eyes abruptly. The sight of the sullen space fills me with sadness.
 

"May I help you, sir?" I ask sourly.

"Yes, indeed. Would you please tell us why you are here?"

I stare blankly before me. All around me are people; people who have had great emotional traumas in their lifetimes; people who have experienced firsthand all of life's hardships; people who have become so accustomed to the world of their dreams that they have lost connection with concrete actuality. They all sit around me, staring curiously at my irritatingly still stance, patiently awaiting my answer. Most of them wear expressions of grief or sorrow, yet some of them look enlightened, greatly content with their desire to change their outlook on life. The longer they stare, the more I begin to realize how insecure they are.

"I am here because...well...I came to this meeting to...I mean...I...I don't..."

"Sometime today, Lee Taemin."

"...I don't think...
I know what life is anymore...
or why it's worth the effort."

The unfortunate souls around me begin to speak comforting words (or at least make an attempt to do so), but I cannot understand what they are saying. Their words run together, making a long, sullen song intended for my ears only.

And, suddenly, the room around me begins to spin.

I have never felt comfortable discussing my feelings. While it comes easily for some people, it is hard for others just as easily. I am one of those "other" people who never speak of themselves or their feelings. I never discuss my accomplishments because I feel that they are not worth the words needed to describe them. I never discuss my failures because I feel that they are already obvious enough. And as far as my feelings go, well, I just don't think that anyone would care about them.

People only look out for themselves.
It is the truth.
It may be hard to accept, but it is true all the same.

"Sir," I say quietly, "May I please be excused?"

I grab my forehead with my hand.
My own skin feels foreign.

The walls around me melt away and the people in the chairs begin to spin as I try to choke out my final sentence.

"...I...feel...
...dizzy."
 

"Do you need me to call the nurse, son? You there, nurse. Yes, this young man here is in need of your assistance..."

The floor beneath me seems to break loose from the very thread of reality. I watch it crumble into an eternal abyss below. The walls around me begin to melt and drain into eternal blackness. The haunting cries of the cement blocks pierce my ears as I desperately try to keep sight of my sanity.

In an attempt to escape from the collapsing chamber, I spring from the chair and unsteadily run toward the door. Each time my foot hits the place where the floor used to be, I feel like I am falling.

You know, the sensation of falling is one that is unlike any other feeling in the world. It is absolutely wonderful, yet at the same time, it is absolutely terrible. It truly cannot be described in words.

Before me is a large wooden door. It's dull brass handle snickers at my flailing and frantic limbs. I violently grab the handle and brace myself against the door, trying to fight the notion ever-brewing in my brain that I am being consumed by the endless darkness beneath my feet. Every second I hold on to the handle, I feel like I am holding on for my own life.

After I collect my thoughts, I turn the handle. It shrieks loudly and painfully as I pull the stubbornly stark door open. As it opens, a sea of bright light floods into the room, encompassing the black hole below me. I weakly fling my body into the brighter world. As my hand leaves the crying handle, I feel the sensation of falling take over my body once more.

This time, the feeling is more relaxing than terrifying.

While my body hangs limply in mid-air, I ponder my fate.

When I hit the ground, will I shatter into a million pieces?
Or will I gather up the strength to land on my feet?

Or will I simply stay floating above the world for the rest of my life?

Suddenly, my body makes contact with the ground.

I lay comatose in a field of tall, dark green grass.

The sky above me is completely black, yet I can see everything before me as if the sun himself was smiling down on the earth.

My heart pounds heavily in my chest. I close my eyes and take deep, controlled breaths to try to stop its erratic beating. As my muscles begin to relax, I let my mind drift away into a slumber-like stage.

Moments later, I hear the sound of singing.

The song is a sweet, Celtic melody that sounds as if it has been passed on for many centuries. I cannot understand the words of the song, for they are sung in a language I do not understand.
The sound is so beautiful and so pure.

I open my eyes to find the source of the engaging sound.

Sitting far ahead of me in the field of grass is a girl.
Her skin is as pale as moonlight, and her hair is as golden as sunshine.
As she sings her angelic melody, she picks sparkling white daisies and puts them in her fair, flowing hair.
Her lips are the sweet pink of carnations and her eyes the rich blue of a thousand oceans.
Her body moves in soft, orderly precision. Her spirit shines in her eyes.

As she sings her song, I sit admiringly and watch her.

I watch her for a long while. The longer I watch her, the more I feel unworthy to be in her presence.

When the sound of her seraphic song ceases, the world around us is quiet.
It is the kind of quiet that only exists in dreams,
And it is the kind of quiet that drives people to madness.

She closes her eyes and turns her head in my direction. When she opens her eyes, she is looking directly at me. As her eyes gaze warmly at my paralyzed, awe-struck face, my whole body becomes limp and lifeless.
 

She slowly rises from the earth like the very sun himself. As she stands and contently watches my face, a warm, gentle wind moves around her like an unsettled vagabond. It tousles her hair and dances around the ends of her shredded silver dress.

She begins to walk slowly toward me.

She walks with celestial poise and balance.
When her feet lightly touch the grass, a bed of ambrosial roses rise from underneath her soles.

As she walks closer, I begin to rise.

She halts suddenly as I lift my body from the earth.

"Hello," I say nervously.
Her eyes widen and her cheeks begin to turn a cherubic shade of pink.

"It's okay, I won't hurt you. I...I could never hurt you," I reassure.

She does not move.
She only stares into my eyes.

"My name is Taemin. What is your name?"

She does not answer.
She just remains still.
She just stares.
 

"Do you have a name? Or are you just shy? It's okay if you're shy. I'm usually shy around strangers, too."

The girl looks at me for a few moments more and then turns around.
She begins to walk away.

"Hey, wait! Don't go!" I shout a little too loudly as I run to catch up to her.

She walks as if there is nothing below her.

I wonder if she has ever felt the sensation of falling.

When I reach her, I put my hand on her shoulder.
She stops dead in her tracks.
She turns to face me once again.
As she looks into my eyes, a smile appears on her face.
She looks down at her feet for a moment, then focuses her attention on my face and on my face only.
She utters something silently in a language that I cannot understand.

"I'm sorry...I don't speak...um...well...I don't understand what you're saying."

The girl lets out a small, light-hearted laugh. She picks a dark red rose from the earth and holds it out for me to take.

"I said that you look like a boy who has endured many sufferings," she says, finally, in a language that I do understand. "But your sufferings have left you with one of the most beautiful souls I have ever seen."

I look hesitantly into the girls eyes. Then, slowly, I take the rose from her hand.

"Thank you...um...well...actually, I don't know what to call you," I tease with a smirk. "You haven't told me your name yet."

The girl reaches over and touches the rose. With the touch of her fingers, the flower turns a glorious shade of white.

"My name is Rowena," she says as she plucks a pedal from the rose and holds it decisively in her small, pale hand.
She studies the pedal as it moves about her fingertips in perfect time with the songs of a light breeze.
She kisses the pedal and releases it from her hold.
Remembering the taste of her lips, the pedal turns into a giant, black bird while dancing happily in mid-air.
The bird turns his monstrous head and glares honestly into my eyes.
After seeing into the very depths of my soul, he turns his head and flies farther and farther into the black sky.

"You know, Taemin, ravens are the most misunderstood birds," the girl, Rowena, says as she salutes the magnificent creature of the sky. "They may appear dark and demonic, but their hearts are as open and compassionate as yours and mine."

She takes a daisy from its comfortable place nestled within her long, wavy hair.
At the touch of her fingers, the daisy turns into a sleek, shadowy feather.
She carefully puts the feather in my hair.
She then falls to her knees and takes my hand.
Her hands are soft and warm, the kind of softness that one would expect to only come from an angel's touch.
She kisses my hand tenderly and looks up into my face.

When I look at her eyes, I notice that they are no longer a pure shade of blue. This time, her eyes are the darkest, richest brown I have ever seen. She hangs her head respectfully and begins to hum words in her ancient language.

When her song ceases, she closes her eyes and takes a calm, deep breath.

"I have been waiting for you for a long time, Taemin."

And upon hearing these words, my heart stops beating and my mind is bombarded with memories that I have never seen before:

I am running through fields as green as emeralds, jumping from cliffs as high as mountains, and landing safely into pools as blue as roaring oceans.

I am standing in a vast, lifeless field of tangled vines, patiently awaiting the rising of the sun. As the first beams of light begin to shine on the land, the vines transform into beds of crimson roses and heavenly hosts of ancient days begin to fly gracefully through the dark, starless sky.

I stand alone, singing ancient hymns of days of yore. Perched upon my shoulder is an old raven, staring authoritatively ahead as I sing him songs of defeats in battle and the loss of honor. At the end of my melodies, he spreads his large wings and flies into the endless horizon, leaving a trail of feathers black as nighttime in the fresh, green grass.

My mind is overrun by these foreign memories.

I try to close my mind to shut them out, but my attempts are futile.

Soon, I can no longer stand up on my own two feet,

And I am overtaken by the sensation of falling once more.



 

Observing the reality of Minho

"His heartbeat is normal," says a tall, rugged doctor as he stares at a small, rectangular monitor covered with moving red and purple lines. Four other doctors stare intently at the monitor. They are perfectly silent and perfectly focused on the progression of the lines. The room is utterly quiet except for the soft, occasional beeps from the monitor.

There is no sunlight in this place. The lack of efficient lighting makes the dirt-stained whitewashed walls seem malicious and uninviting. My eyes wander around the room, hopelessly searching for any shred of ethereal space.

"Choi Minho, may I speak with you a moment, please?" a doctor asks as he kneels next to my rusty, blood-stained hospital bed.

The words echo lifelessly in my ears. I look down at the grimy tile floor and realize that, unsurprisingly, it is every bit as dark as the walls. I nervously fold my hands, close my eyes, and imagine that I am standing before the sunrise, smelling the pleasant freshness of the morning air.

And he is standing there next to me.
And he is not suffering.
And I am not to blame for anything.

"Choi Minho? CHOI MINHO. Open your eyes, Choi Minho."

I hear the words as they are spoken. I try to do as I am instructed, but the unyielding claws of my imagination refuse to release my mind from their grasp.

I imagine that we are safe together in the field.
I imagine that he is smiling and laughing as he lays lightheartedly in the soft grass.

I imagine that the world is a good place and that I am not to blame for anything.

"Now, Choi Minho. Right now."

As the sun peaks from the horizon, I close my eyes and breathe in the sweet smell of a new day. In this moment, I feel serene. I slowly fall to my knees and rest my head on the slightly damp grass. All the noises of the world cease to exist and the beauty of the morning captivates me.

I am next to him, and he is next to me,
And we are next to each other.

We are laughing and smiling and enjoying the crisp morning air.

All is right with the world,
And I am not to blame for anything.

"Choi Minho! Do as I say!"

The words pierce my ears like a thousand daggers. I open my eyes quickly. The sight of the sullen space fills me with sadness.

It is now that I realize that I am to blame for everything.

"Yes, sir?" I ask passively.
With every breath I take, the same thought rings loudly through my mind:

I am to blame for everything.

"Would you please tell us exactly why you two are here?"

I stare blankly before me. All around me are doctors; doctors who are trying their hardest to figure out why he is lying helpless and practically lifeless before them, stuck forever in a world of dreams. They all stand around me, staring at me and only me, patiently awaiting my answer. Some of them wear expressions of deep concern or sorrow, but most of them look apathetic, more concerned about what they will be eating for supper or what time they will be getting home tonight. The longer they stare, the more I begin to realize how self-focused they are and how insignificant the life of my brother is to them.

People only look out for themselves.
It is the truth.
It may be hard to accept, but it is true all the same.

"I am here...we are here because...because..."
"Because why, Choi Minho? We need to know.
This information could save his life."

The vulturous doctors around me attempt to console me, speaking words of false comfort and concern, but I cannot understand what they are saying. Their words all run together, making a long, sullen song intended for my ears only.

And, suddenly, the room around me begins to spin.

Before long, I am being consumed by the hazy, dark clutches of my unconscious mind.

"Choi Minho, please try to stay awake. Choi Minho? Do you understand me, Choi Minho?"

I gather up all the strength of will and mentality that I have left in my broken body and scream frantically:

"It's all my fault! It's all my fault! OH GOD, IT'S ALL MY FAULT!
I am to blame for everything!"

And with these words the world goes black.

The only thing that exists are his soft cries and the sounds from the machines that are keeping him alive.

And as I drift farther and farther into the vast canyons and crevices of my thoughts, I feel the sensation of falling.

And I long for it to stop.