Daniel

Daniel saw dancing lights, and thought they were Cleo, but the lights raced toward him, right up to his face, then tromboned away fast as a gunshot, then snapped into hyper-sharp focus. Daniel saw branches. Branches, pine needles, twisted gnarled deformed warped scrub oak branches like arthritic fingers with leaves.

Tobey cried, “Daniel?”

Cleo whimpered, “Daniel?”

Daniel felt himself shrinking, like the world was growing larger and he was getting smaller, and Tobey and Cleo were farther away.

Daniel said, “Guys?”

Tobey said, “We’re looking, dude, where are you?”

Cleo said, “Daniel, aniel?”

Daniel struggled to get up. He fought like a werewolf with a zombie eating its neck, but the zombie was winning.

“Tobey? Cleo? Where are you, you, you?”

Daniel tried to keep his eyes open, but the light grew so bright it turned black.

Tobey screamed, “Daniel, come back!”

Cleo shrieked, “Where is he, is he, is he?”

Daniel tried to answer, but could not, and knew the boys heard only silence.

Tobey said, “Cleo?”

Cleo said, “Tobey?”

“Going?”

“Gone.”

“. . .”

“. . .”

Daniel no longer felt his body, or the earth beneath him, or the air that kissed his skin. He felt like nothing within nothing, and knew he would miss the guys, Cleo and Tobey, his only true and dear friends.