Freezing daggers. Slicing. Carving. Echo. Re-birth. Thoughts; icy shocks. Pain? awaken. Hand, clenching. Hand? Waves, Pain.

Pain.

…Warmth…

He felt as if he was rising and sinking in the warm waters of the ocean. Every time he rose he was projected toward the sun, but there was something odd about the sun. It was unbearably cold. Cold. Great spires of light fell away from the gigantic ball, colder than the worst blizzard winds.

The sun represented a reality all too real. All too familiar.

The Sun’s icy claw slowly, slowly loosened its grip upon his soul. Spires of light circling. Dancing. Jubilant. Sinking.

He was submerged in the warm, swirling waters.Warm?

A delicate balance continued to play itself out for some time, until the confused passenger began to sense a newcomer. Warmth. Warmth deep in the metallic waters. As the sun, reaching for his soul. What the sun and its deathly grip represent, the Warmth below felt the opposite. Similar goals. But what were those goals?

…Cold…

So deep was the surrounding blackness that existence had no place. Money no value. Opinions nonexistent. Time meaningless. This is the blackboard of the universe, where all things are nothing and nothing is everything. If he did have a body, he could not feel it, move it or see it.

…Warmth…

Thought patterns grew deep in the brain like newborn infants. Electric pulses grew in size and intensity until they could be seen stretching the entire length of the nervous system.

…Cold…

Slowing. Surges of pain lanced through his body like waves hitting the shore. He suddenly felt as if he needed to make a decision. He had heard no question. No voice. He just knew. The choices were obvious: Cold or Warmth. He could here the icy spires screeching to be heard above the deep bellowing of the furnace below, a battle raging on between the two with him as the prize.

As if chains were pulling him downward he began sinking like a bullet and the now burning waters rushed against passed his face at God knows what speed and he could feel the icy grip of the sun losing power and he was slipping away from all forms of familiarity he had ever known yet he was the most comfortable he had ever been.

Presently, he remembered the wings on his back and turned his head to examine them. The giant, arching lances of feathers pierced the cool breeze passing through the valley. With a hop he leapt from his perch and began to soar through the clouds like a captive bird escaping from his masters.

People could be seen going about their daily chores like ants running a colony. One man, a rather burly fellow with a thick black mustache and a small, brown cap squeezed onto his head could be seen maneuvering an elephant through a precariously tight bunch of grape vines. The vines were swaying in the same wind that supported him in his heavenly flight, the grapes looking like golden balls in the terrific sunlight.

Hand in pocket he began to stroll down the golden road, his boots clicking with every step he took and the moon shot odd shadows amiss throughout the landscape like a puppet show with nature as the puppet master and the shadows played across the dreary trees, dancing and spinning as schoolgirls would and then they slowed until it was a well-practiced ballet, with all members of the play excelling in their difficult roles and the waves sloshed at the right moment, reflecting the moonlight in a soaring arc right on cue and the animals shuffled and scurried on pulse with the graceful shadows and this was heaven.

But the submarine was leaking! He whipped a glance at the commanding officer, who, recovering from the blow, began bellowing orders just to bellow orders. What followed was a chaotic scramble of hundreds of people, nothing at all like the grace of the puppet show, whose memory even now began to slip from the throne of subconscious.

The last piece of sunlight broke the window sill. It jabbed into his fresh face. The unbearable screeching of the alarm clock quickly shattered all remnants of the prior ecstasy. Warm…Cold…The battle was slowly fading from any recognizable form. He rolled over. Breathe. Stretch. Clarity. He mentally laughed at the irony of having to start your day with a struggle from perfect harmony and warmth to crime, poverty and famine. Oh well, he thought, inching upward into sitting position, just another day.