Darkness. Contrasted by the orangey haze of the flame. As the rest of the setting came into focus, a shadowy figure gazed onto the hideous scene before him. The one he always remembered.
The grey smoke suffocated him. He could faintly hear a medley of sounds, including a chorus of children, singing a tune from a playground far away. In the farthest end of his memory. He was in the building now. The same one that had been burning before him.
The wood creaked and warped as the fire ate away at its remaining fibers. Calm. The children's voices became clearer; it was as if they had blended into one several octave sound. The muffled blare of a marching band accompanied her softly.
"Ring around the rosie," it chimed. A man. In the bed, its white sheets tainted by his very presence. The man he knew. His face was flushed; eyes staring wide and defiant into the parading onslaught of black. He couldn't hide his terror. He wanted the voice to stop. The band was louder now.
"Pockets full of posie." The taste. Swallowing the bitter juices that poisoned his throat. Searing his veins. Torturous hours of pain. The man on the bed was still in agony. It was the figure's job to help. But not yet. The voice was getting louder, shaking the foundations of the burning home.
"Ashes, ashes." The house began to crumble. Ashes dropped like bombs on his eyelids, the sound of sirens accompanying their explosions. The man on the gurney felt them too. The lights flashed as they fell. The figures skin began to crack like the wood around him. A white vision of the man once again. Back to the burning edifice in which he occupied. He was crumbling along with the rest of the structure; insignificant; only there for support. Fragments of his muscles turned molten red as he felt himself disintegrating. Falling. Back to the ashes that he was born from.
He needed the voice to stop. It was only making it worse. The band didn't help either. It was much too soon. He found the voice through the shattered window, out in the grey, ambient world. He had seen it too much. It was facing the beyond. Beckoning for something, hand outstretched. To the bed. His hand was reaching out. The figure could feel him coming closer. It wouldn't be much longer now.
The memories came flooding back. There they were now, assailing him. Unforgiving. Rain had begun to fall, black drops dotting the child who had now turned towards the figure. Her pale face was accented by the black bar she had across her eyes, deepening the dark of her irises, which held his gaze until they turned towards a woman. Completely still. He hadn't noticed her before.
Another hospital image flashed before him as the girl grabbed hands with the woman. There were two children now. The woman was split between two shimmery figures. One was a woman he had known before. Black tears fell violently down her face. She had waited too long. The aura to her left wiped the woman's eyes gingerly with a white-gloved hand. The gasmask that occupied the auras face turned slowly towards the sound of the band, which had become a deafening roar.
Her warped dress frame rose to the edges of her torn corset. She held the children close. The man in the bed was almost there, his pale form glimmering faintly as it moved closer towards the woman. A flash of light and one last image of the bed. All that remained was a creased outline of where he had laid. The figure started to crumble as the band finally moved into focus with the woman, taking the white form of the man into their arms. The black-clad leader spared a moment for the figure, giving him a slight nod as he stared into his eyes. It was finished. The man had made his choice. The figure fell slowly, a silent pleading in his closed eyes as the group sealed his fate in unison.
"We all fall down."
