Warm Bodies: The Little Brown Bear

The Visit

Rowan woke slowly, rising through layers of consciousness like a diver coming up for air, gradually aware that he was in bed, under copious layers of covers and deliciously warm. Shifting slightly, he nestled deeper into the cocoon of blankets, then broke into a wide yawn.

God, he was cozy. He couldn't remember ever being this comfortable. This was just... heaven.

Opening his eyes, he found himself staring at a window. Warm light glowed from the soft curtains, falling over his bed. Outside, he could hear kids playing and laughing, calling out to each other. The sound was incredibly joyful, and he smiled.

Rubbing his eyes sleepily, he turned onto his back, then gazed lazily around the room, his eyes taking in the colorful posters on the walls, the haphazardly stacked books and action figures crowding the bookshelves, and finally, the figure at the door.

"Hey mom," he mumbled, stretching his arms out across the bed.

Claire smiled at him from the doorway, "Hey sweetheart. Have a good sleep?"

He nodded, rubbing his eyes again, "Yeah. Really good."

Her smile grew. "Good. I've got breakfast going downstairs, come down when you're ready?"

Yawning, he nodded, "Yup."

She turned and left, and he smiled, still deliriously comfortable under the covers.

Mom looked good. Really good actually, better than he'd ever seen her.

Certainly better than the last time he'd seen her, when... when she'd...

R froze.

...died.

He shot bolt upright in his bed.

His old bed. In his old room. At his old home. With all of his old stuff.

With a terrible, strange fear, he focused on the doorway, where he had seen his mother moments ago.

"Mom?" he whispered.

She didn't return. But of course, she wouldn't hear him anyway, because she was downstairs... making breakfast. He could hear her moving around, hear the sound of a frying pan against the stove.

This is a dream. I'm dreaming.

But it didn't feel like a dream. It felt incredibly real. In fact, it felt more vivid, more alive than his waking life had felt lately. And not because real life had been deficient in some way, but because he was feeling so much more. Everything felt magnified. The tactile comfort of his bed, the golden warmth of the light from the window, the absolutely satisfying stretch he'd just had.

So if this wasn't a dream... then...

Another hallucination? It had to be... like the girl had said, he was hallucinating from the cold, he had to keep moving, because he was going... to...

...die.

R stared around the room, taking in the beautiful sunshine, the delighted laughter from the kids outside and the most delicious smell of bacon cooking downstairs.

His mouth swamped. God, he was so hungry, and that smelled...

...heavenly.

R frowned. He was not dead. There was no such thing as life after death. Okay, yes, he'd been a corpse that had almost magically come back to life, twice... but that didn't prove God, or heaven or anything like that. It just proved that things were pretty fucking weird, and they didn't have all the answers.

This had to be a hallucination. R pushed himself to remember what had happened after leaving the bench with the girl, and had a flash of a memory. Of rolling onto his back, enveloped in snow, and just... lying there.