When Rose opened her eyes, she found herself sitting on the living room couch in front of the innocent kitchen. Cecile, who sat next to her, was beautifully smiling at her little boy; his heart still beating in his chest—he sat on the white stained, carpeted floor, playing with his colorful toy blocks.

The front windows were covered with a deep mahogany red drape that radiated heat from outside into the warm damp air. Sunlight burned down the hallway, brighter than the brightest of stars—and the slow and lethargic summer danced on the yawning tips of everyone's lips.

"I'm surprised to see you here. I thought you left?" Rose looked up to Sam sitting on the other couch in front of her.

"Really? I thought I told you I wouldn't miss this visit," she slyly said.

Sam straightened his back and lightheartedly said, "Well you're just in luck because it's my birthday." He spoke with a matter-of-fact tone.

"Oh, really. How old are you now, Sam?" Rose mocked him, and Sam smiled.

"Thirty-four," he answered.

"That means I'm—" Rose's eyes widened with a sarcastic tone of terror written across her face.

"—thirty."

"So I'll forever be lonely, I guess," she mumbled as she leaned her chin against her palm.

"No, there's Timmy, me—"

"And me, of course," Cecile smiled as her mellifluous voice sank in her throat.

"You—you can see me?" Rose asked her, but Cecile didn't look over.

"No, she can't, but she knows of your presence," Sam smiled.

"Oh, I see, but she can hear you speaking to me?" Rose turned to Sam.

"It's—complicated because these are only memories," Sam's face drooped for he was saddened by the thought.

Rose smiled indifferently.

"Darling, stop talking to yourself and open up your presents." Cecile pushed the beautifully red sparkling wrapped gift across the table. Rose sat there smiling along with Cecile, interested in what she got him, but when he opened the box, it was empty.

"Aww darling, you shouldn't have," Sam shrieked in excitement. Rose peaked over.

"It's empty," she remarked. Sam looked up at Rose with a smile still plastered across his face.

"I can't remember what she got me, but I do know it was nice." Timmy got up from where he was sitting and reached to grab the red paper. He played with it and played with it, amused by the crinkling sounds. . .

—-

"How old is your son?" Rose and Sam were in the kitchen together washing the dishes as Cecile took Lil' Timmy up to bed. A full moon reflected the white light of the sleeping sun, casting long and mysterious, and inhuman like, shadows on the kitchen floor.

"Timmy turned two just last month," he said as he stared at his sudsy hands.

"Oh? And what month would that be?" Rose stood at the other sink, elbow deep in the grayish water.

"I can't remember," Sam said almost immediately without thinking.

"Oh."

It was silent in the house now that Cecile and Timmy were in bed. Rose looked out the window by the sink as the moisture from the suds fogged the glass. It wasn't until the green grass started smearing into the night sky, and the blue kitchen turned cobalt when Rose noticed Sam was leaving for upstairs.

"Hey! Where're you going?" Sam stopped at the bottom of the stairs and peaked his head halfway in between the hallway and kitchen with an innocent, embarrassed smile. He had been caught red-handed.

"This is where the memory ends, Rose. I have to go now." Rose didn't want to live through the bright lights again. She didn't, so she stalled.

"I'm a different person now, Rose." Rose nodded understandably but did not comprehend what was coming from his mouth. So, she followed him to the corner of the hall.

Everything was dark in the beginning—it always is because we can never remember past our existence. Rose felt with her hands around the surrounding area. What happened? Her back was aching as she rolled over and got up. As she looked around, she noticed a faint white line of light glowing underneath a door and fumbled for it as the voices from the walls began to escalate in volume. She slammed the door loud enough to drown them out. Outside, the door led her to the exact hallway from when she woke up the first time and was dead silent. This time, Rose started down the opposite way from the stairs. This was her only chance to explore, so she started checking all the doors. All of them were locked. But then, Rose came to a beat up door with scratches and dents, and the door knob seemed very worn. As she grabbed it, the knob wobbled with loud clacking. Shhh! Rose hissed under her breath as she pleaded with the door. When the knob wouldn't go any farther to the right, Rose slowly pushed the door in. It creaked and groaned in the most horrendous way like a man beaten to death moaning his last breath of air. The black tar like crease expanded its gape eating the life out of Rose. Her pounding heart became audible as the door quieted. Look out! A hand came down from behind onto her shoulder and spun her around.

"Ah!" She jumped. "What the hell are you doing, Sam?"

He pushed her backwards into the door as he closed it shut. His forehead hit hers hard with a white hot flash of pain cracking across as he hissed into her face.

"Don't you ever go in there! Understand?"

He shook her once against the peeling wooden door, and she began to sob.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know. I didn't know."

"What'd you see? Huh? What'd you see!" His spit sprayed Rose in the face as she floundered about in his firm grasp.

"Nothing. Nothing... please... let go of me." Rose couldn't look at him anymore and tilted her head to the side.

"Damn right you didn't see anything. Leave my mother alone, you bitch!" Rose's eyes began leaking water. Sam was trying to be quiet, but he woke up poor Timmy, and Cecile was striding down the green hall in deep red satin pajamas handsomely mad.

"The fuck do you think you're doing? Shut the hell up, you'll wake the baby!" She hissed. Sam didn't look at her as he still gripped Rose's shoulders in both his hands. "Sam, leave it, okay? God, I don't know what's gotten into you." Sam's face relaxed as an epiphany boarded his expressionless face, but he never lost sight of Rose.

"I'm sorry." He breathed. "I—I don't know what came over me." He looked down, then at Cecile and walked down the hall with her.

"Wait Sam, please don't tell me this is where the memory ends. You couldn't have possibly been yelling at me!" Sam turned around with a blank face.

"No it's not, but it'll be boring for you." He stopped and fully turned around. "Can you sort the mail, or maybe do the dishes?" Rose was curious but didn't want to get him in more trouble because Cecile would get on her case again.

"It seems that Cecile actually doesn't know about my existence. You're just making a fool of yourself."

Sam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll talk to you about it later okay?"

"Oh, ok then." Sam turned around with not another glance backwards.

It was dark outside while Rose did the dishes. They appeared from nowhere; a task set to do forever and ever as the dishes kept piling up. After what seemed like forever, Sam came down standing just outside the tinted blue light of the moon. "So what is it about Cecile? Does she see me, hear me? Can she feel me if I touch her?" Sam didn't move. "What's stopping you from telling her you're stuck? I'm sure she'll be more than happy to help you." The water from the sink stopped as the water ran out. It gurgled as the last few gulps of water were sucked down the drain. Sam walked up beside her; the moonlight indenting his new wrinkles and pale skin.

"If she or Timmy realizes this isn't reality, they will notice I'm not like them, and will try to kill me, and you. Neither one of us belongs in this world, Rose." His voice was soft with recognition.

"Which is why we need to get out of here—"

"You don't understand." Sam muttered softly. "I can't leave. Neither can you." Rose stalled. "You tried to leave this morning, but couldn't because it was the boundaries of my memory. We aren't living in a normal world. We are living in a bubble."

"No, we're in living hell, Sam. There has to be a way to escape. There has to." Sam froze staring out the window, then turned abruptly. "Sam? Hey where're you going? I'm sorry for what I said. Hey!" Sam disappeared into the darkness until a square light opened to the front lawn dead with brown grass. "Sam!" The door closed leaving Rose in pitch black darkness.

She heard the footsteps lightly squeaking up the cracking floorboards. Rose's ears began to ring louder and louder, and the kitchen blue began to darken and melt like wax on a candle and scorch her. The hot wax burned like hell, and she began to scream, but her voice was drowned out by the ringing as everything turned white, and the memory dissolved.

—-

The world around her came into focus as the greens and mottled browns gained shape. When she opened her eyes, she found herself laying down awkwardly on the bottom of the stairs. Sam was there, leaning against the post, staring down the roach crawling up the light green, faded wallpaper that had small, white daisies printed on them. He lifted his foot and crushed the gross thing under his boot. Its brownish-yellow guts smeared down the wall, dripping with the consistency of molasses. Rose tried to get up but felt a stabbing pain in her lower back.

"Ah! Shit," Rose yelped out in pain.

"What was that?!" Cecile's worried voice clambered out of her mouth, wavering a pitch higher than usual.

"I'm fine, darling. I just lost my footing," Sam reached down and helped Rose up.

"Jesus, what happened?" Rose inquired, wobbling as she went.

"You fell down the stairs." Sam guided her into the kitchen and had her sit in the white foldable chair across from Cecile. Cecile was hidden behind a newspaper with a red mug in hand barely visible next to the news.

"Hey, Cecile," Sam teased.

"What?" She raised her mug behind the paper, but she never brought it back down.

"What's black and white and red all over?"

"I dunno, Sam, a newspaper?" Boredom was etched in her voice.

"No—" Sam smiled vigorously, borderline wild. "—A massacre of penguins."

"Hehe. . ." Rose chuckled.

"Don't kid around with me, sir!" Cecile brought the news down fast with a slap of the paper onto the table while staring down Rose.

"I—I'm sorry." Rose slouched in her chair. She was going to yell back that she hadn't said anything.

"You don't have to apologize—"

"I wasn't apologizing, Sam," Cecile roared back.

"Watch out!" The knives came crashing down along with the boy, clattering and bashing onto the floor.

After the initial shock, everything became a blur as both Sam and Cecile leaped out of their chairs to the motionless small body. The blood was getting everywhere as a black pool of it formed around the boy—deep red edges melted, reaching out further and further across the floor, and the hands smeared it across the light blue clothing with uneven colors of orange and dark red, painting themselves onto the blank canvas. Stepping away, Rose noticed that this was the only time Sam and Cecile were on the same side. They were both helplessly in love with their son and both powerless as the blood drained out of the pale unconscious corpse. Their screams echoed in Rose's ears but faded over time as she began to sink back into the dark hall. She began to cry as the yelling bounced off the walls and slowly faded into oblivion.

Her mind came back to her, seeing light brown flecks gently wave to and fro. As her vision focused and the light flecks became dead grass, Sam started to come into view. She sat up and found they were at the top of the eased hill behind the house.

"What're you doing, Sam?" He was digging a hole beneath the yellow ginkgo that rained its sickly leaves onto them. "Sam?" He didn't answer her. Looking toward the bay, she saw his wife standing at the cliff's edge. Her sunshine yellow dress fluttered about in the wind.

"Watch out," Rose mouthed, and in a crazed manner, imagined Cecile plummeting to her death. The idea put a smile on her face.

Motion in the tree caught Rose's attention, and as she looked up, she realized just how grotesque she was compared to nature. Then, the leaves folded into monarchs in the wind and broke free from the branches as they flew around her and fluttered down from the tree like leaves swirling down cutting through the thin veil of air. They fluttered by and drifted off toward the waters edge by Cecile. She didn't move once as they surrounded her, but the butterflies soon flew off toward the blazing sun, slowly shrinking into the far distance of nothingness.

Sam stopped digging and stared down the hole, trying to hold back his tears. The scene stayed like that for minutes on end as the sun began to set, sending orange-red rays of light everywhere.

"Why'd he have to go?" Sam sobbed. "Oh, why'd he have to go?" He crumpled to the ground and yelled once a scream of anger. Rose squatted next to him, staring at the empty grave.

"He's in a better place, Sam. He's with God now." Sam scrunched his fist into a ball.

"I don't—believe in God," he softly whispered.

"Don't believe in him? Well, what about the butterflies?" The butterflies were long gone after they flew away into the sunset, but he didn't watch them. He could care less about them anyway.

Rose carefully placed her hand on top of his shoulder, noticing how they were beginning to wrinkle with age. She got up leaving him in peace with his boy and walked toward the cliff. As she approached Cecile, the wind picked up, sending her curly red hair waving hello to Rose from behind her.

"Stay away from my husband," she boomed. Rose stopped, thinking she was quietly walking up and confused by Cecile's sudden accusations.

"What'd you mean? I don't love your husband if that's what you're insinuating—"

"He gave me orange roses. Orange! He thought they were red when he bought them. What a dumbass! He said under the pale light in the store they looked red," she scoffed.

"Cecile, please don't be mad at me. He loves you, and your son. He's absolutely devastated about Timmy." Cecile took a breath and held it before starting.

"Timothy was bound to have left us. I just wasn't sure when or how, and to be frank, this was quite unexpected. I ought to throw her off this cliff and watch her flounder about in the water if I could. Then, as she's gasping for air, I'll push her down and watch the bubbles gurgle out of her mouth. She'll splash and put up a hell of a good fight, but then she'll tire out and cease to stop moving. Have you ever seen a dead body float in the water? It's weird because of the way the legs and arms sink, but the head is always down covered by their hair, and their back is facing towards heaven barely above the water. If anyone drowns down there, they won't ever escape; she won't ever make it to heaven." Cecile smiled. "She is a yellow rose. That's all: yellow. Which is why my son died."

"Are you accusing me of killing your son?"

"I am accusing her of intrusion. She invaded my home, but. . .I can understand why she won't leave. . .leave my husband alone."

"Yes, I really want to leave. I don't belong here."

The sun disappeared behind the sea, and the stars started to shimmer. Then, the brightest star at the top of the sky started to rip open like a seam beginning to tear. The bright, white light dimmed the other deep colors as the beam surrounded Rose. Her ears began to ring again as the blurry glare came into focus. She heard the muttering of human voices—They got louder and louder, and then the white consumed everything.