Charles

~~~

I was right to be anxious last night: I had a nightmare again. The flowers were there again. Their blood-like petals plague me in my sleep, like prophets of a tragedy that's yet to come. Had there not been enough tragedy in my life already, both caused and experienced by me?

As I got out of bed just now, I could feel a chill run down my spine in remembrance of the dream. Arthur was there, too. Alone, kneeling on his kitchen floor, cradling a bird in his palms. Then everything went up in flames, just like that night in the mansion, now twenty days ago.

Then came the flowers. They emerged from the blaze undamaged, and I breathed them in, and they invaded my lungs, my veins, my eyes, until all I could see and feel was their gory crimson.

I'm eating a light breakfast now as I write. There's an overwhelming sense of pressing emergency, and I feel anxious to go check in on Arthur. Partially because of the dream, and partially because I feel guilty about neglecting him yesterday.

I know he's fully capable, but after what he said - about me saving him - I can't help but worry about him, feel responsible for him.

I've done some horrible things not too long ago, and although they have been hovering over me, I can deal with it.

If anything happened to Arthur, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself, ever. I should've visited him...

I'm leaving now. Heading to his.