The modest room within the geriatric care facility was filled with sounds that conveyed the grievous woes of pending loss. Watching someone waste away before your eyes was a kind of image that couldn't be scrubbed from your memories no matter what you did.
It would haunt you.
Kieran was haunted by such memories of himself, which was almost like experiencing inception, but he wasn't so disillusioned to believe everything he had endured, felt, and encountered was a figment of his imagination or placed there by someone — something — else.
His imagination was strong… but not strong enough to create another world or another life.
'Let's leave that up to the filmmakers, novelists… and whatever other creators exist.'
