There was a certain name to the color of the sky he saw above him, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember it. God, it was beautiful. Late afternoon blue. Maybe that was the name. He knew it wasn’t but it sounded good, nonetheless. It seemed to fit. A color not too light, but not dark either. It was absolutely perfect. He hadn’t seen a sky like this since he was a kid. And for some reason the thought suddenly appeared in his head, that that was the whole point of him seeing it now: To remind him of things that used to be. Whatever that meant, he thought shaking his head.

He realized that he was lying on his back looking straight up into the endless celestial dome. No wonder the blue was all he had seen. The cool, tickle of the grass against the back of his neck had given the secret away.

Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, the scent of new mown grass drifted in from somewhere far-away on a pale breeze, and like the view of the sky had been, so too was the scent perfect.

Propping up on his elbows, he looked around from what he now realized, was a hilltop vantage point. It seemed like the view was open for miles, not a building in sight. Just calm rolling lowland terrain (“Hill Country” he remembered from somewhere that they called it that in central Texas), covered with meadows of wonderful, lush green grass, and an occasional clump of cottonwood trees. He turned and looked around behind him. The view wasn’t much different, except that there were many more trees in that direction.

He stood up, stretched and just stood there, absorbing the view, marveling at how peaceful it was. Almost dreamy, he thought as he began to walk down the hill, toward no particular destination. The velvety soft grass poked up between his toes, longer blades whispering at his ankles. The ground was so soft. No, not really soft. Spongy. That was the word for it. Spongy. He was proud of himself for having thought of that way to describe it. It didn’t feel damp, but moist, and well taken care of. God had done a fine job of it, because out here, there was certainly no one else to do it. It was all completely natural.

A warm breeze hissed quietly through the brittle cottonwood leaves, and up the hill toward him, blowing across his face, through his short hair and over his scalp. The sight, the sound, the smell, all incredibly refreshing.

A few birds came out of the tangle of tree branches, calling to one another, offering a glimpse of their colorful plumage, before flying away together. Some still hidden among the trees chattered, their voices joining a symphony of crickets serenading him. As he walked, a yellow and black butterfly fluttered past, on a crooked flight-path to who-knew-where. He watched it until he lost sight of it in a tall stand of brown prairie grass. At one time, he might have been able to name the type of butterfly, but that was long ago, when he was a kid. He knew that he should do his best to come up with what type of butterfly it was, even if he couldn’t rely on his memory, and had to look it up. One day there might come a real need-to-know, and he’d want to be prepared.

He had passed by the copse of trees, and ahead of him the hill continued to slope downward, at a slight angle. In the distance he could see an uneven scar cutting through the meadow, a jagged black line, with a thin gray fog floating above it, following it’s every turn. He knew that this was the creek where he used to fish with one of his older brothers.

He was back here. How he got here was something he couldn’t remember. And further, why he was here was an even bigger mystery – one he didn’t feel like taking the time to solve.

He hadn’t been in this grassy field, near this creek in years. Years. But he smiled now, glad to be back. It conjured so many memories, of so many good times. The blistering hot August afternoons spent sitting along the creek in whatever meager shade they could find. Setting up their fishing poles, opening a few beers, just sitting back and talking. Laughing and having a great time.

He remembered it all. Those were great times. His smile broadened, as he closed his eyes, and took a deep breath holding his arms out at length. He inhaled deeply, through his mouth, feeling the warm air rush down his throat and into his lungs, loving every wicked sensation it was bringing on.

A chill teased the base of his spine. His back contorted slightly, and his whole body convulsed allowing the chill to overtake him. He exhaled a ragged breath through clenched teeth, and immediately opened his mouth wide, inhaling deeply again.

There was too much to it. His eyes were closed, but all the things he remembered from the last few scant moments ago to the memories from twenty years past played across the theater of his mind. He could taste, touch, hear, smell a thousand things all at once. It began to overwhelm him, flooding every sense with far more than it could handle. He trembled, inhaling deeply again, nearly laughing. It was too much. Too much, but he couldn’t stop the overload. Didn’t want to. His arms flopped to his sides, his legs gave way, and he fell to his knees in a nearly orgasmic swoon.

How long he knelt there, he wasn’t sure. He realized he was holding his breath and let it go, long, and loud, still smiling. It had felt so good to be here again. He was so incredibly happy. His heartbeat began to slow, finally. Eventually, his stiffened muscles relaxed, and he felt as if he’d be able to open his eyes.

He did so, and looked down staring dumbly at the dull, stainless steel floor.

Suddenly, his stomach felt heavy. No. It couldn’t be true. But it was. He knew this place, but shook his head anyway, refusing to accept it. Maybe his denial would be strong enough to make it go away. But it wasn’t. It never was.

He lifted his head a bit more, and looked across the round, metal deck, the bank of control and communications instruments that lined the curved wall, their pale, joyless hum having replaced the sounds of the crickets and the wind blowing through tall grass and trees.

It just wasn’t fair. Why did he have to do this to himself? He knew how wonderful it felt, but he also knew how crushing it was when it ended. Every time he did it, he had a distant hope that maybe this time it wouldn’t end. It always did, but he hoped.

He couldn’t let the charade continue, no matter how pleasant it had been. He stood up, the popping of his knees hurting and echoing slightly across the room. He resigned himself to the fact that at least for now, it was over. Dejected, he reached up, and pulled the tubes from his nostrils. He looked at them, the tips red with blood, and threw them angrily on the floor. He’d clean them up later.

He walked over to the foot of the metal staircase that clung to the wall, and began climbing, listening to his own muted footsteps. His hand held the rail that ran along the stairs, feeling its cold, uncaring smoothness, like he’d done the hundreds of other times he’d walked the stairs. The staircase followed the curve of the wall, and went up through a squared-off hole in the metallic ceiling, to the upper level. As he passed through, the lights below automatically turned themselves off, while the lights above came on, harsh, and white. He winced, and put a hand above his eyes, to block as much of the light as possible.

“Dim forty percent.” He called out, and instantly, the sensors, recognizing his voice, dimmed the overhead lights to the appropriate level. He removed his hand just as he stepped off the top stair. The room was smaller than the one below, and it too was circular in shape. Over against the wall was his bed. The tubular frame, like everything else around here, he thought bitterly, was stainless steel, the sheets, pillow and pillowcase, white. The only color allowed.

He walked over to it, pulled the wrinkled, bunched-up sheet down and got into bed, already dressed in a white t-shirt and pajama pants. Although he couldn’t (or didn’t care to) remember it, apparently he never got dressed when he woke up this morning. He lay on his back for a moment, and exhaled deeply as he pulled the sheet up to his chest.  Finally, realizing that as usual, sleep would not be coming easily, he turned onto his side, trying to get comfortable. He pulled the sheet up over his head and shouted “Lights off!”

If you think this is worth reading, let me know and I'll post more of this story....

Here's the link to my freebies:   https://www.renderosity.com/mod/freestuff/?uid=493127

My cousin Jack can speak to beans. That's right.... Jack and the beans talk