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Description
               In my dream, I died. I stood on the edge of a carved canyon, but nothing of the rock was visible under the feathery clouds of verdant moss. But I wasted no time here at the brink; I jumped. I fell as if laying facedown on some invisible mattress, my arms spread like stripped wings, my fingertips brushing the downy walls of moss. Not a hint of fear or regret here. I closed my eyes as the ground came closer.

               There was no heartily sickening crunch, no crimson pain. I didn't open my eyes to a bloody menagerie of broken bones. I was actually right where I'd been – at the top of canyon. Except that now I couldn't feel the moss between my toes. My world now consisted of only what I saw, only what I heard, and the only thing I could feel on my skin was the tangible peace. The peace, a breeze of sterling calm that seemed to commandeer my existence.

               I turned away from the canyon and walked deliberately towards a manhole. The dead don't rush. Time is a Stalin of the living. I climbed down the steel ladder, and found two old friends from my middle school years. Amazing, seeing as nearly everyone from those years has been long-gone from my life outside of this dream.

               Mark Oltrace, one year below me, we were both veterans of the chess club back in the day and I never saw him after my last day of eighth grade. Jen Alvory, my best friend until I saw her again and saw that she'd lost her individuality to the swarms of giggling and gossiping high school queens. Two unrelated people, crying together for me in a manhole-hidden laboratory. Interesting dream.

               I walked forward to comfort them. I felt their sadness, but still regretted nothing as I took Mark's face in my hands and made him understand that I was happier this way. I wiped the tears from Jen's eyes, taking the makeup with me. And I made her realize how much I always cared for her.

               I could call this a nightmare: it will haunt me forever. But it's not a nightmare because I killed myself. It's because I will never be able to kill myself cleanly and truly feel that peace and then go back and fix all those loose ends and get people to understand. No, that can't be done in real life.

Description
               In my dream, I died. I stood on the edge of a carved canyon, but nothing of the rock was visible under the feathery clouds of verdant moss. But I wasted no time here at the brink; I jumped. I fell as if laying facedown on some invisible mattress, my arms spread like stripped wings, my fingertips brushing the downy walls of moss. Not a hint of fear or regret here. I closed my eyes as the ground came closer.

               There was no heartily sickening crunch, no crimson pain. I didn't open my eyes to a bloody menagerie of broken bones. I was actually right where I'd been – at the top of canyon. Except that now I couldn't feel the moss between my toes. My world now consisted of only what I saw, only what I heard, and the only thing I could feel on my skin was the tangible peace. The peace, a breeze of sterling calm that seemed to commandeer my existence.

               I turned away from the canyon and walked deliberately towards a manhole. The dead don't rush. Time is a Stalin of the living. I climbed down the steel ladder, and found two old friends from my middle school years. Amazing, seeing as nearly everyone from those years has been long-gone from my life outside of this dream.

               Mark Oltrace, one year below me, we were both veterans of the chess club back in the day and I never saw him after my last day of eighth grade. Jen Alvory, my best friend until I saw her again and saw that she'd lost her individuality to the swarms of giggling and gossiping high school queens. Two unrelated people, crying together for me in a manhole-hidden laboratory. Interesting dream.

               I walked forward to comfort them. I felt their sadness, but still regretted nothing as I took Mark's face in my hands and made him understand that I was happier this way. I wiped the tears from Jen's eyes, taking the makeup with me. And I made her realize how much I always cared for her.

               I could call this a nightmare: it will haunt me forever. But it's not a nightmare because I killed myself. It's because I will never be able to kill myself cleanly and truly feel that peace and then go back and fix all those loose ends and get people to understand. No, that can't be done in real life.