This story is based off of a story that was based off of a dream, posted below.
Dedicated to my wondrous girlfriend Rachel, who puts up with my chronic overdramatic mood swings once a couple of weeks. And always gives me a chance to make it up.
My name is Andrew Whitman, I'm 28 years old and living my life to the fullest.
Sometimes there are things that people don't believe, and a lot of times I'm that person not believing it.
Perhaps I'm insane, but I've become one of those people that have reason to believe in miracles.
This is the story of my life.
"What the hell are you talking about? I'm not the narrow minded a*****e that doesn't realize how much of an idiot he is"
"I'm talking about you, you self glorified b***h."
Sometimes our voices could be heard by the neighbours.
This happens so much now, that our one year old son doesn't even cry from our screaming voices.
He's too young to know what were talking about, but he knows were fighting.
I see him sometimes, looking in from a crack through the door, frowning.
"Where are you going now?"
"You told me you didn't want to see my face, so I'm leaving."
I walk out of the room, slamming the door.
Her voice consists of muffled screams now.
I can see my son watching me from inside his room.
This is probably our worst fight yet.
Though after that fight, this story is easy enough to summarize from here on.
I would walk down the hallway with my things, and trip on a toy.
I'd fall down the stairs and yell in pain.
She would ignore me, and I'd leave the house for the day.
The fights would continue for a week.
Another week later, we'd sign for a divorce.
Another week would pass, I'd be alone in a bar.
I would see her kissing another man.
I would leave for the apartment I rented.
I would look over the balcony and sigh, closing my eyes.
I'd lean forward, feeling the wind take me down.
I would jump.
My eyes would open.
Everything would be white.
A beautiful woman would be sleeping on me, sitting in a chair.
A nurse would walk in, and call the doctor in joy.
They would tell me I'd been in a nearly three week coma.
That I fell down a flight of stairs and been unconscious ever since.
That she had been there the whole time, and this was the first sleep she'd gotten for a week.
She would wake up a couple of hours later, and look at me.
A smile would stretch across her face, with tears down her eyes.
"I'm so sorry" She'd cry and kiss me.
"Sorry for what?" I'd ask
She would laugh.
We would go home.
We would live the rest of our lives together, have a beautiful daughter.
On our 54th anniversary, at the age of 67, we'd die in our sleep holding each other.
I would feel my life being drained from my body.
Before I left, I would have a dream.
I would remember everything.
The day we met, our first kiss, the day I asked her out, the first time we said "I love you", the first time we engaged in a physical relationship.
Then I would remember our fight, me falling down some stairs.
Waking up in the hospital.
Looking at her, lying that I knew who she was.
Thinking to myself "I must know her if she stayed here all this time."
Lastly, I would remember who she was.
Her maiden name is Winter Abrams.
I asked her out when we were about 14, on July 3rd 2009.
She was obsessed with dogs.
She hated my father.
She never got over my terrible diet.
She loved me for most of her life.
But only now, I remember all of this.
For most of my life, I'd lied to her.
Told her I knew her.
Only now I really do.
Now that I can see a light.
That light?
Maybe god is real.
Maybe if I walk into that light, I'd be given another chance at my life. A chance to fix it all.
All I have to do is follow it.
A blinding light engulfs my vision.
I can't see anything, everything is so bright.
I see something.
A staircase, blond hair, hazel eyes.
"Am I in heaven? Am I dead?" I mumble.
A drop of water on my face, warm arms holding me up straight.
It's comforting, but it kind of hurts.
I grunt.
"Andrew? Andrew!" She screams in what seems to be joy jumping out of sorrow.
"ngh" I moan.
"Andrew! Are you alright?! Oh my god, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. I love you, I'm so sorry." She cries, and falls into my chest.
No coma, I'm not dead. I'm not 67 years old. I know who she is.
"ANDREW TALK TO ME!" She yells in my face, tears streaming down her face.
"Winter...?" I whisper, my head throbbing.
"Andrew!" She screams, kissing me. Crushing me with a hug.
I smile.
"I'm so sorry... so sorry... this is all my fault." she's crying.
"Winter..." I say softly, she looks up at me "Stop taking the blame for everything."
"But..." she tries to speak.
"It was my fault, I started it..." I tried to talk "I'm just glad, that his is how it ends."
"What do you mean?" She wipes the tears off of her face.
"I'm not in a coma. I didn't forget who you were, living 40 years of my life lying to you." I smiled.
She slightly laughs at the remark. "Andrew, I love you. I love you and your imagination."
"I love you too..." I smile
Winter holds me up "Whatever you saw when you were out cold, I'm here with you now."
It was all a dream.
40 years passed in ten minutes.
No matter how real it felt, it was all fake.
There is no god.
There are no second chances in life.
I was just dreaming.
What is this hard thing in my pocket?
A letter?
Partially opened?
"Dear Andrew,
Happy 54th anniversary. It's great that we made it this far. I never got to apologize for that fight we had years ago. I kind of supposed that hit to the head when you fell had made you forget everything about it. Oh well, the past is behind us.
I love you so much.
Winter <3"
It crumbled in my hand, leaving no evidence of it ever being in my pocket.
Maybe I'm going insane.
Or maybe
maybe there's some space in me for belief in miracles and second chances.
Maybe this is my second chance...
My chance to say something with actual meaning.
I look at her "Winter...?"
"Hmmm?" She looks at me, still trying to hold back tears.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
Dedicated to my wondrous girlfriend Rachel, who puts up with my chronic overdramatic mood swings once a couple of weeks. And always gives me a chance to make it up.
My name is Andrew Whitman, I'm 28 years old and living my life to the fullest.
Sometimes there are things that people don't believe, and a lot of times I'm that person not believing it.
Perhaps I'm insane, but I've become one of those people that have reason to believe in miracles.
This is the story of my life.
"What the hell are you talking about? I'm not the narrow minded a*****e that doesn't realize how much of an idiot he is"
"I'm talking about you, you self glorified b***h."
Sometimes our voices could be heard by the neighbours.
This happens so much now, that our one year old son doesn't even cry from our screaming voices.
He's too young to know what were talking about, but he knows were fighting.
I see him sometimes, looking in from a crack through the door, frowning.
"Where are you going now?"
"You told me you didn't want to see my face, so I'm leaving."
I walk out of the room, slamming the door.
Her voice consists of muffled screams now.
I can see my son watching me from inside his room.
This is probably our worst fight yet.
Though after that fight, this story is easy enough to summarize from here on.
I would walk down the hallway with my things, and trip on a toy.
I'd fall down the stairs and yell in pain.
She would ignore me, and I'd leave the house for the day.
The fights would continue for a week.
Another week later, we'd sign for a divorce.
Another week would pass, I'd be alone in a bar.
I would see her kissing another man.
I would leave for the apartment I rented.
I would look over the balcony and sigh, closing my eyes.
I'd lean forward, feeling the wind take me down.
I would jump.
My eyes would open.
Everything would be white.
A beautiful woman would be sleeping on me, sitting in a chair.
A nurse would walk in, and call the doctor in joy.
They would tell me I'd been in a nearly three week coma.
That I fell down a flight of stairs and been unconscious ever since.
That she had been there the whole time, and this was the first sleep she'd gotten for a week.
She would wake up a couple of hours later, and look at me.
A smile would stretch across her face, with tears down her eyes.
"I'm so sorry" She'd cry and kiss me.
"Sorry for what?" I'd ask
She would laugh.
We would go home.
We would live the rest of our lives together, have a beautiful daughter.
On our 54th anniversary, at the age of 67, we'd die in our sleep holding each other.
I would feel my life being drained from my body.
Before I left, I would have a dream.
I would remember everything.
The day we met, our first kiss, the day I asked her out, the first time we said "I love you", the first time we engaged in a physical relationship.
Then I would remember our fight, me falling down some stairs.
Waking up in the hospital.
Looking at her, lying that I knew who she was.
Thinking to myself "I must know her if she stayed here all this time."
Lastly, I would remember who she was.
Her maiden name is Winter Abrams.
I asked her out when we were about 14, on July 3rd 2009.
She was obsessed with dogs.
She hated my father.
She never got over my terrible diet.
She loved me for most of her life.
But only now, I remember all of this.
For most of my life, I'd lied to her.
Told her I knew her.
Only now I really do.
Now that I can see a light.
That light?
Maybe god is real.
Maybe if I walk into that light, I'd be given another chance at my life. A chance to fix it all.
All I have to do is follow it.
A blinding light engulfs my vision.
I can't see anything, everything is so bright.
I see something.
A staircase, blond hair, hazel eyes.
"Am I in heaven? Am I dead?" I mumble.
A drop of water on my face, warm arms holding me up straight.
It's comforting, but it kind of hurts.
I grunt.
"Andrew? Andrew!" She screams in what seems to be joy jumping out of sorrow.
"ngh" I moan.
"Andrew! Are you alright?! Oh my god, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. I love you, I'm so sorry." She cries, and falls into my chest.
No coma, I'm not dead. I'm not 67 years old. I know who she is.
"ANDREW TALK TO ME!" She yells in my face, tears streaming down her face.
"Winter...?" I whisper, my head throbbing.
"Andrew!" She screams, kissing me. Crushing me with a hug.
I smile.
"I'm so sorry... so sorry... this is all my fault." she's crying.
"Winter..." I say softly, she looks up at me "Stop taking the blame for everything."
"But..." she tries to speak.
"It was my fault, I started it..." I tried to talk "I'm just glad, that his is how it ends."
"What do you mean?" She wipes the tears off of her face.
"I'm not in a coma. I didn't forget who you were, living 40 years of my life lying to you." I smiled.
She slightly laughs at the remark. "Andrew, I love you. I love you and your imagination."
"I love you too..." I smile
Winter holds me up "Whatever you saw when you were out cold, I'm here with you now."
It was all a dream.
40 years passed in ten minutes.
No matter how real it felt, it was all fake.
There is no god.
There are no second chances in life.
I was just dreaming.
What is this hard thing in my pocket?
A letter?
Partially opened?
"Dear Andrew,
Happy 54th anniversary. It's great that we made it this far. I never got to apologize for that fight we had years ago. I kind of supposed that hit to the head when you fell had made you forget everything about it. Oh well, the past is behind us.
I love you so much.
Winter <3"
It crumbled in my hand, leaving no evidence of it ever being in my pocket.
Maybe I'm going insane.
Or maybe
maybe there's some space in me for belief in miracles and second chances.
Maybe this is my second chance...
My chance to say something with actual meaning.
I look at her "Winter...?"
"Hmmm?" She looks at me, still trying to hold back tears.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
