Recently, the nightmares have been improving.

No blood.

No screaming.

Just that final, tortured, breath of his.

His eyes fluttering shut.

His mouth closing.

When I look back, it's almost like I could see Death, standing nearby, head bowed. Reluctant to take him, reluctant to leave him here.

Perhaps I'm living in a fantasy world, where things right themselves naturally. Where--

Oh, look!

A bird, stalling on the wind.

Hope on its wings.