The sun sank its' way into the western horizon, and he watched his family on the shore. He was neither awake nor dreaming. He was in a place where the line between dreams and reality was a living thing, feeding on past horrors and the future's uncertainty. The hungry watcher prepared a feast. His daughter had blue ribbons in her hair, and the salty breeze made them dance. His beautiful wife was a painting of desire, and the background was merely a mockery of the light that shone from her. His son, young and strong, stood by the failing shoreline, and his laughter carried between the waves. He wanted to go to them, but his legs were the sand, and would not carry him. His daughter raised a hand to wave and his mind screamed. He could not speak. He could not tell her, "This is not goodbye." He watched in despair as his wife took their hands and led them to the ocean. He clawed at his mouth to open, and wept as the depths took them. Eden's blue ribbons were the first to disappear, and with them went his breath. Silas's broad shoulders were the next to go, and with them went his purpose. Last of all, his love was consumed by the hungry blue, and he saw the final scraps of his soul drown with her. He could see her long brown hair float on the surface for the bitterest moment ... and the sunset was turned to blood. Staring into the nothing that was left for him, the edge of his own words sliced into the heart of his grief.
"I can see the sunset as it turns to red ... where I go to die ... prepare my bed."