Beneath the skin was nothing more than more interwoven seams of red, blue and white. The flesh was torn in two places, deeply and unreparably broken. Somehow I knew he was still alive, if not only because he spoke to me. He said, "I have only ever cared about you, brother". And I knew he did. This was my brother, who shared my blood, from our mother. His face was young and unexposed to the gusts of lifes later winds. He was innocent and simple as he lay there dying. And as I woke in my bed, I wanted only to walk down the hall and kneel at the bed which once belonged to my younger self, lay my head down on his ribs, my brothers, and close my eyes.

Note to self: pay more attention to the feelings and thoughts evoked by dreams rather than the events