You wake from a deep slumber in a small clearing of a forest to the music of birds harmonizing, singing their routine morning song. The sunlight spotlights your presence in a manner so picturesque you feel exposed in the ethereal image. Lost and confused, you check your watch. 5:32 am. Unfortunately, you can tell that the clock is broken because the second hand doesn’t move, prompting the realization you’re even more lost than you initially thought.
Small, glowing wisps appear suddenly, leading to a path into the woods. You follow their way in hopes of divine guidance. Gorgeous and sparkling stones appear under your feet, paving a blissful road of your steps. Bright, colorful flower blossoms and shrubs bloom rapidly and graciously, seemingly at your command, framing the trail. After a considerable amount of time passes and your feet grow weary, you reach a dead end where a treehouse stands. Shoddily crafted but charming, you think of the treehouse of your own childhood. The quixotic nature of this lost world feels inconsequential and almost heavenly. You scale the tree and climb into the shed, eager to reminisce and leaving behind all apprehension. There you meet a seemingly fading woman, serene and solemn. Her hair flows in soft waves and she wears a silk dress, gold as the sunlight. She reminds you of an angel, sparking your curiosity.
As you look more closely, her dress quickly transforms into blue scrubs. Bloodstained latex gloves appear over her delicate hands. Her youthful face ages in a matter of a seconds. A surgical face mask materializes, smothering her features but failing to hide her exhaustion and pain. She lifts the mask, opens her mouth and mournfully mutters,
“Time of death: 5:32 am.”