Davy was haunted by his last memory of life. His hair being caressed by Joe. Within that memory squirmed those unnerving feelings of being touched so romantically by a man. Ah, but he was a beautiful man.
"Joe, will you stop editing my dream, please!"
"Sorry, Davy, go on."
There was at first a panic in his soul, his mind still alive and filled with thought, yet his body frozen in death. He could hear life support system pumping away, doing the work of Providence, keeping him forever caught just short of moving on, And all good think of were the beautiful blue eyes of that ruggedly handsome man, that man that all other men only dream of ...
Davy wondered if there would ever be release from this fateful prison, once again to frolic in the meadow with sweet Joe by his side ...
"Joe, I'm warning you ..."
"Well, excuse me for having a healthy self-esteem ..."
...from this fateful prison, once again to walk the face of this earth. To smell the smoke of a distant hickory fire, to hear the haunt of an owl in the night, to feel the ancient wisdom of an old ... apple tree, no, palm tree ... ah, forget it ... to feel the ancient wisdom of the old man in the mountain ... there with beautiful Joe drinking in the wonder of just being with him ...
"Look, Joe, I warned you ..." Joe was haunted by his last memory of life. His memory of Davy pushing into the path of the truck. Who would have thought that Davy would go that far in the pursuit of his beloved Lady Tasha. For so many years, Davy had "pined" for his beloved. First through the eloosive years, when Tasha had toured the world visiting one romantic spot after another, under the guise of attending writing workshop. Then came the era of her hermitage at that monastic enclave on Isle of Victoria with the Sacred Order of Brightwell. And then those escapades in her wild years when she frolicked forever in the mist, paying homage to the twin gods of fantasy, Dys and Euph.
"Davy, okay, okay I'm sorry. Could we get back to the story?"
"Learned your lesson/"
Davy and Joe were both haunted by their last memory, a memory they shared together, the blinding headlight, the blaring horn, the squealing brakes, now they being laid to rest together in a simple somber funeral service. The mourners were many, all garbed in black, their souls tinged with grey. And though it was a fair and beautiful day, a September day, a day that they would have spent writing together, there was a sadness in the air. But there was also anticipation in the air, for both Davy and Joe that they were moving on together into a new world, a new time, somewhere beyond the shade of this old oak tree which they now called home.
(Nick, help! We're losing it and we can't seem to stop!)