The dreamer was falling. The dreamer did not know who he was. He did not know where he was. But he knew what he was going to be.
Dead.
He knew now that Death wasn't the Devil welcoming you home or the Grim Reaper vainly brandishing his sickle, but Grey.
Grey without seam, beginning, or end.
Terror took the form of a scream, building from his belly and moving up, toward his mouth. But it stuck in his throat. He continued to fall without a sound.
The silence was unbearable.
Wild, unretainable fear spread from his chest out to his now flailing limbs. He tried desperately, as if he was a bird, to take flight and escape the awful Grey.
He couldn't.
The Grey was too close now, too close!
Through the fog of panic a phrase entered his mind.
"Falling's a lot like flying. It just has a more permanent destination."
He whimpered a faint exclamation of misery as he lived that bitter truth.
How very like a dream this is, thought the dreamer. But you can't die in dreams, can you?
This was no dream.
His mind began to scrabble for comfort in this living nightmare. Suddenly, something eased the pinpricks of panic stabbing into his head, coming suddenly like a drink of cool water. They came slowly into focus.
Faces.
Faces of men and women that he knew. He knew that he knew them. He couldn't remember them, though. But one face in particular stood out. He focused on it. Short light brown hair, dark green eyes, tanned and wrinkled skin. Once more, he remembered a phrase. It echoed and bounced in the recesses of his head.
"Friends protect people."
Friends? Did the dreamer even have any friends? He wasn't sure. But the dreamer thought he would like to be friends with the person that face belonged to. In fact, he felt sure that he was indeed friends with that placid, calm face. That meant he would be protected, right? The dreamer thought it would be good to have the friendly looking man on his side.
That person would protect him.
He clung to that face.
The Grey was almost here. He had but a second before the end.
One last thing, one last wisp of bliss in his torment, formed in his mind.
A name.
John.
And then the Grey swallowed him, the dream ended, and the world became black.