There is no one speaking. Time is a sparkling atom placed perfectly on the pinpoint of pain. I am precisely nowhere. I cannot see, or move. All that I have is me. Whiteness is everywhere. Sometimes I hear voices. They are like distant thunder rumbling, but never coherent. I scream but I don’t think any one hears me.
I am certain that I am not dead; certainly not dead; deadly certain. Sometimes I lose the train I call my thoughts, then a flood of random happenings happen to me. I see bits and pieces of whatever. A brown crumbling leaf crunching under my feet. The green bench with paint chipping off the sides. A short old man with false teeth wearing suspenders, jean shorts, sun glasses, and no shirt who I know is dead. Then it is whiteness again, a blank canvas with no heat or cold.
I can’t walk so I project myself farther and farther into the white infinity. I hear another rumble of thunder. I swear it sounds like wake up. I try to focus on the words. Blurry faces face me. I push past the blur trying to focus. I raise my arm but it never moves, it’s not there.  
Again a thunder voice sounds saying, “Wake up.” The blurs lose their fuzziness. I see a little face. What a sweet little baby face; a little boy stumbling around dragging a pink fuzzy teddy bear that is almost as big as him. Then I see the same little baby with a cute cowboy hat smiling adorably while he tries to take it off; the thin elastic band keeps snapping it back on his head.
I hear myself laughing, at least how I use to sound laughing. The voice thunders again. The little boy is slightly older now. I see the presents under the tree. He opens up the silver suited Buzz Lightyear. He loves it.
We go to the park and I push him on the swings. I take him trick-or-treating. There is a painful sadness in my stomach. At least I think it’s my stomach. I cannot tell where any part of me is. I feel a flush a fresh warm air crossing my essence. I think the warm air is me.  Sadness permeates my being. The sadness tingles like sleeping limbs and stinks of regrets. I wish I could go back to those days.
Am I dying? No I am not dying. Something sharp takes a bite out of me. I see a ******* dog pulling on my pant leg. I feel a sense of panic. He is dragging me one way when I know I have to go another. I’m going to be late but I can’t say what for. I feel the skin on my ankle rip, as he tares through the jeans pulling me to the ground repeatedly.
Wait, I am not wearing any jeans. I try to pinch myself. I try so hard, but I cannot find the skin. I cannot even find the origin of my intention. Again the thunder calls to me. Water is falling fast and cold on my skin, but there is no water.
I can feel my bare feet squishing through a muddy puddle. I run. I play. I laugh. I wonder what is wrong with me. Owe, the white water drop drips of red crimson dots and they slip and slide expanding into long lines. There is a horn, someone plays the trumpet. I feel the pressure of blowing in the trumpet and it hurts the sides of my neck. Man I hated that brass piece of crap. There is a rhythmic pulsing pounding like a drum set. I should have stuck with the drums instead.
I feel dizzy the redness expands further, then comes shades of fuzzy light brown. The thunder sounds again. I know it’s raining I can feel the water trickling down my skin. Someone is touching me. I struggle to pull away. The harder I fight the harder it pulls me.
No, no, no, I scream. There is the sound of a baby crying. I see my brother’s little brown slimy face. It is the first picture I have ever seen of him. He will be home soon. Something jerks me forward. The thunder starts to sound less like thunder and more like a voice.  “Get up.”
“Get up!”
My brother is on the back of my bike as we roll to the store.
“Get up!”
My brother is playing video games at my new apartment.
“Get up!”
My brother is crying.
“Get up!”
My brother is laughing.
“Get up!”
My brother is coming slowly into to focus as a grown man.
“Get up!”
My brother is yelling at me to get up. The blurry edges of reality are slowly coming into to focus. I shake my head, and it hurts. I hear something big rolling this way. A shadow rises filling up the wet road ahead.  A hand pulls me up. I stumble off of the road onto the side and slip into a small ditch
It hurts so much. I check my wrinkled flesh. Yep, I still have all my fingers, and they work. Yep, all those age spots are still there. I see my younger brother, he is saying something. Man he looks old as ****. Now sound is perfectly restored. I hear him clearly for the first time. Are you ok? He says with a toothy old man smile.
I smile back. “I think I lost my teeth.”
Behind me is a horrible mess.  One small car crushed in the front with a semi truck not even five feet away and other vehicles are just breezing on by.