This was home! But not the abandoned rundown ruin it’d become years ago, but the one from his childhood memories.

Disclaimer: This is fiction. All the characters and events portrayed here are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely accidental and unintentional A big thanks goes out to Paula my understanding spouse. Another big thanks goes to Cathy who pre-read this. Any remaining errors, or mistakes are mine! Enjoy!

Russell wearily turned his head, watching his neighbor cough his life away. They were both patients in the charity ward. Oh, no one called it that, but that was what it was just the same. The rooms were less bright and the furnishings were old and worn. The hospital administrators could be sure no one here would complain. Besides why bother? They were all here to die. Cancer was rotting out his insides, while it was busy destroying his neighbor’s lungs.

If he had the energy to cry, he would have. Russell had wasted his life, and now soon he would die leaving nothing behind him; no family, no friends, and only a black hole of debt. And shame, he couldn’t forget the shame and guilt even after all of these years.

His tired old hands clenched themselves as a soft moan escaped him as he fought to not think about the old hurt. As they tighten into fists, he remembered that strange stone that crazed old woman had pressed into his hand earlier that day. He’d forgotten he still had it, but now its solid warmth seemed to flow up his arm into chest relaxing the panic and anxiety that lived there.

With no family, often volunteers and other came by to try and cheer them up. Why they even tried was beyond him. Some wanted to save his soul from hell, while others were trying to assuage some guilt of their own. However, the old woman from this morning was different.

In bygone days she’d've been called a gypsy, witch, hippy or perhaps all three with her colorful scarves and jewelry. Age had bent, but not broken her despite her gray hair and winkles. She’d stopped by each one of his fellow inmates speaking and sometimes getting laugh from them; no matter they were at death’s door.

Him, she’d just stopped and stared at saying nothing as he did his best to ignore her.

She made him jump as she pushed the round smooth stone into his hand. “This is a dream stone. Tonight when you sleep, all of your dreams will come true,” she said in tone that caused his worn-out heart to beat faster.

“In case, you haven’t noticed, it’s a little too late for that. I’m dying. We’re all dying. What can a dream do about that?” He rasped back.

The old woman gave him her evil eye. “We all begin to die from the moment we start to live. Ah, but now dreams?” She leaned in close and whispered eerily, “Those are for forever. They don’t die unless the dreamer kills them.”

Before he could think of a reply, she turned and was gone with a swirl of her tie-dyed skirts.

The distractions of his neighbors, nurses, and his own pain soon made him forget her words and the stone, until now.

The pills he’d taken had begun to numb the pain and were bringing their welcomed unconsciousness with them. Anything to escape what his life had become. Overcome by exhaustion, disease, and a life gone wrong, his eyes slowly closed.

Feeling the warmth of the sun on his cheek, and the wind as it gently ruffled his hair, Russell’s eyes flew open. Shock shook him as he looked around. It wasn’t possible!

This was home! But not the abandoned rundown ruin it’d become years ago, but the one from his childhood memories. The farmhouse’s white paint and its green roof stood out cheerfully among the cedar trees planted around it. There was the stream running through the meadow and the patch of woods whose trees, he’d climbed and played upon as a child.

Trying not to hyperventilate, Russell looked down at himself. He was wearing a pair of much patched hand-me-down overalls from one of his brothers. Shirtless and barefoot, his skin was covered in freckles from spending so much time outdoors. His red hair was sun-bleached into shiny copper and long from not being cut during the summer.

His legs collapsed out from under him as tears ran down his face. This was all from a time that was long gone. It had been the last happy summer of his childhood. Before his body went awry and grew the wrong way. Before he could no longer ignore that he was different and worse neither could anyone else. The memories, all the pain, and the misery of what came in the years afterwards had him in tearful sobs.

A gentle hand touched his shoulder, but his sorrow so consumed him he couldn’t look up.

Softly a voice asked, “Are you alright?”

His eyes red and his throat sore from crying, Russell glanced up. Wondering, he had to blink a few times to grasp what he was seeing.

A young girl his age stood there. She was dressed much the same way as he, but had instead a faded pink shirt on under her overalls. Colorful girlish patches covered the repairs on hers rather than plain squares of faded blue demin on his. Her hair was mass of red-gold curls and she was splashed with freckles like him.

She was him.

He stared at the impossible vision standing before him smiling holding a basket half-full of flowers.

Stuttering Russell said unbelieving, “You’re me. I mean the other me, Wendy.”

She gave him a little giggle, “Of course I am, silly. Who else would I be?”

Feeling completely overwhelmed, he hugged himself shaking his head in denial and confusion.

Wendy knelt down holding him.

Looking up at her again he asked, “How is this possible? I, we, was eaten up with cancer and dying. I’d messed up our life and …”

He tried to continue but her fingers gently touching his lips stopped him. “Shhh, I don’t know anymore than you why we’re here, but I don’t want to hear you blaming yourself for what happened to us. You did the best you could. Yes, you did try to hide me from the world and even from yourself, but I was scared and hiding too. Understand?” She asked.

Still confused, he nodded.

Then she smiled in a way that made the summer sun seem all that much brighter. “I do know that we’re home! The meadow is full of wildflowers, and the woods and stream are cool when the day gets too hot.” She hopped to her feet, basket in hand. Spinning in a circle, her curls bouncing, she giggled happily. “I don’t know how long we’ll be here, but I’m going to make the most of it! Will you come with me?”

Russell looked at her hand held out to him, then up all about at the beautiful clear blue sky above and the life flowering in abundance around them. She was right. Who knew how long their escape from that miserable place would last.

Smiling he took her hand. Together they helped each other over the split wood fence, and hand in hand they ran through the green, green grass and bright flowers as the butterflies fluttered about them. Two pairs of steps soon joined into one as a happy child ran joyfully in the season of the sun.

At the window a young new father stared awed at the small child wrapped in pink. For hours, he’d waited, fretted, and prayed, worried to death, because his wife’s delivery had been filled with complications. Somehow his prayers had been answered, and now they both were resting. The Doctors said the worst part was over now and things looked good for mother and child.

Standing nearby an old woman wearing a volunteer’s badge stood by smiling at the new life before her. “If you believe, dreams can come true. Miracles can happen.” She said.

The young man nodded, thinking she was speaking to him, but his eyes never left his new born daughter. So intense was his wonder, he didn’t notice the flower laying next to her at first. He was just happy his family was alive and well, but who put that wildflower in her crib he wondered?