He led on his bed, eyes shut, the dim light creeping through his eyelids. The purple walls were soft with peace as he listened to Jeff Buckley's Grace.
The nearby lampshade lit the one white wall which reflected around the room like a spectrum cast over the soft purple walls, darkened by shadows.
He thought of how his death would affect the world if he were to choke on chewing gum right then. If he'd been found listening to a tragic masterpiece with dead ears. But then he worried, he was no one. None of this would affect the world around him, so he stopped the thought as soon as he could and returned his attention to the melodic guitar riff of Last Goodbye.
At that his lungs tightened and his stomach contracted as he sprang forth, clenching at his chest in hope for the pain to cease. With a cough the pain began to fade. Legs hanging over the bedside he found himself bent double clutching the space below his rib cage, applying some pressure as to squeeze the pain out.
As his plan slowly worked his golden hair swayed before his eyes. Despite the dim light of the room, his retinas burned like staring at the sun. He lost focus on the floor below him, closed his eyes and slowly led himself back to the mattress.
What was that pain? Was it to return? He didn't know and didn't foresee an answer. As long as it had gone he was fine for now. Softly back into Lilac Wine.
The smell of warm winter spices filled his nose as his entire body relaxed, like ice melting, filling all the sides of a cup perfectly. The chewing gum he didn't choke on picked up some of the warm spice's smells and began to taste warm too. He stopped chewing and just let cold air wash in through his nose and run warm out of his mouth.
At the base of every strand of every hair on his head, he gained the sensation as if all his hair was flowing free, forming the plumes it does under water.
The sound caressing his mind and his body, Hallelujah sighed in.
Again the searing pain entered his chest, but now he knew not to spasm and convulse. He pressed both palms down on himself and sheepishly the pain left him once more.
The warm spice smell faded. The smell of fresh books replaced it. The fresh leaves fanning their unique smell. His eyes grew heavy as he found great comfort in the transition of smells. The song crept through him as though it never wanted to disturb him. Slowly opening eyes, he saw not a burning sun, but warm darkness, like a bayou's fog. His eyes still stung but his muscles wouldn't allow him to break his relaxed comfort.
Smiling, he let his eyes shut once more. The smells grew thicker and thicker as he took his breaths. Warm and smooth, they tickled his lungs, most unlike the sharp pains before. As his muscles relaxed more so did his thoughts. He was no longer thinking of thinking and instead natural thought played on. Grains of sand, shades of purple, golden locks of hair and dancing lights. The lights danced on and pulsed between brightness and darkness rhythmically matching each sigh of breath, slowly favoring the dim light instead. Leaving true focus completely the dancing lights danced their last to the call in Lover, You Should've Come Over. And then he slipped away into his bed, soft as fresh grass.
The smoke was unseen, the smoke had gripped his lungs like an oily vice-grip. he never knew such comfort as he did in his last minutes. Drowned in ash he serenely, warmly sank away.
The heat soon bore too much as it ripped through the purple walls and smoldered the one white wall. The once purple room was vacant and now a terrible orange, yellow and white, wisps of black licking the air. Reaching their long tongues down breathways and drowning lungs and shutting down the thoughts of its victims.