Ray blinked. Stars dotted the skies like white paint splattered on a black canvas. He stayed on his back and admired the sight that became more and more rare the older he grew.

I haven’t felt this relaxed in a long time. Maybe I’ll just stay here and watch the stars until morning. It’s not like I have anything better to do. I’m not even hungry.

He closed his eyes to think about it.

Wait. Where am I?

When he opened them again, he found himself still staring at the same beautiful sky. His fingers grasped at what he laid on, something firm and smooth. The air smelled clean with a lingering, sweet, fragrance. He sat up and surveyed his surroundings. The sight dumbfounded him. He was in a field of black roses that stretched as far as the sky.

Black roses don’t grow around here.

A sudden panic hit him but he brushed it off. This was a dream. He never experienced one so real, one where he could think so clearly and actually feel things, but it was a dream, it had to be. That was the only possible explanation.

He got to his feet and checked his surroundings. After confirming he was alone, he lifted his arms in the air, thinking of Superman, and jumped. He hit the ground. He peeked around just in case anyone saw. He tried one more time before sighing.

How the hell do people lucid dream? Do I need to say something?

He struck a pose, “P-Persona!”

Even with all his heart poured into yelling the word, he saw nothing. There was no big ethereal avatar standing behind him, ready to lend him their power.

He sucked air through his teeth, and trudged along.

So embarrassing.

He didn’t know how to navigate by the stars nor did he see any clear path. So, he chose a direction and walked. Things were strange. In the dreams he could recall, they were always in places he’d been before and none were filled with color.

He bent down and ran his fingers over one of the roses. The petals ruffled under his touch, paper thin as they were. Down the stem he traced the spots where thorns used to be, the only traces of their existence being smoothed nubs. When he plucked the rose it immediately withered. Startled, he dropped it and watched as the ground swallowed it up.

This is definitely a dream. A bad one too since I can’t even fly.

The farther he wandered, the calmer he felt. It was especially odd because he often worried in situations like these. A familiar blue light drew his attention. A butterfly circled him. He extended a finger for the creature and it landed. The simple yet mesmerizing pattern on its back was amplified by its glowing wings. Its two little antennae felt around as if searching for something.

With one flap, the butterfly was off. He glanced back at the field of roses and followed it. The butterfly led him to a stone pathway running deep into the trees. Two streams flowed along with the path, carrying along with them the same beautiful flower in different shades of pink, white, and purple. The petals were pointed and resembled an open pine cone, some looking as if they held a budding rose in the center.

“Are they lotuses?” He breathed, as he kept pace with one floating along the stream.

“Yes, they are” a voice answered.

“Who’s there?” he asked, checking his surroundings. He waited for a moment. No reply. He asked another question, “Where am I?”

“In an odd place,” the voice responded.

That’s one hell of a vague answer. I’m glad I can rely on this guy.

He cleared his throat, “Where are you? Come out now.”

“...”

He waited in the silence.

“Do you like flowers?”

“I guess they’re pretty,” he said, “And I don’t have an allergy so… I probably like them.” He thought of his mother and how she would have felt at his lackluster response. She used to work as a florist and taught him and his siblings about them every time she brought a new flower home.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” the voice asked out of the blue.

We go from flowers to my memory now?

He tapped his forehead with his knuckle as he thought back to the last thing he remembered. “I’m not sure? I remember waking up in the middle of the night and walking to the convenience store… Wait, I think I saw that butterfly too. Where’d it go?”

“Somewhere nearby,” the voice said, “Is that all you can recall?”

“Uhhh… I followed it and I saw a bright light followed by a loud noise. That’s all I can remember before waking up in the field.”

“I see. Let me tell you something then.”

“What?”

“You died.”

He stood there, stunned. He barely processed the words. The moment he chased after the butterfly, it replayed over and over in his head. The bright light, the loud noise. He almost choked. Could it be that he was hit by a car? Did he die instantly or was he still clinging onto life?

He tensed. He wanted to scream. Of all the things in his life, all the shitty stupid things, even the game he played when he got back from school, work, driving around, whatever it was, none of it brought him joy anymore. He felt nothing from it. He just kept on going. That’s all he could do. To chase after something, anything, that might make him feel something.

His graduation was only a day away. No, it was that very day. And it had been taken from him.

His idiocy struck again. If only he didn’t follow that butterfly, “What do I do now?”

“...Walk down the path you see in front of you. Go until you see an empty flower bed,” the voice paused, as if unsure he was listening. “Once you reach it, another shall open.”

He nodded lifelessly and trod down the narrow stone road. When he reached the flowers, the butterfly appeared from behind him and flew over the flowers. He thought about snatching it, cursing it, but as the flowers died away, he followed it once again.

The shock of his death and the loss of his goal faded a bit. Was this the afterlife? Was this what really happened after someone died? They come to a garden?

He stopped about ten yards away, uncertain if he wanted to go further.

The butterfly turned around and hovered a few feet away from him.

“There is nothing to fear,” the voice soothed, “Neither the flowers nor the path will harm you. Please, step forward.”

He mustered whatever energy he had and started walking toward the empty patch of grass. He looked behind him and saw new flowers sprouting. They were yellow, orange, and gold. Some had their petals outlined in yellow, accentuating their reddish-orange colors as they puffed out like dresses. A pretty, round, little flower. The air was filled with their fragrance.

“They are beautiful, are they not?” the voice asked, almost saddened.

“Yeah, they are.”

“It… I have not seen these in a long while. This part of the garden sometimes will not reveal itself to me and the flowers on the path are different each time. I cannot remember why. It has been so long and my memory fails me.”

So it doesn’t know why the flowers are different.

He was reluctant to question the voice about itself, himself? The voice definitely sounded like a man’s but he wasn’t curious about that. He was curious about why the afterlife looked nothing like any afterlife he’d ever heard of. Where were the pearly gates? How about the grand feast or frozen Hel? Maybe this was purgatory or something of the sort and the voice belonged to God. If it was, would he be sent to hell for asking offensive questions? He pushed back those thoughts.

“You sure do love flowers, huh?”

“They are a wonder to look at,” the voice said.

“How do they grow here?”

“You ask many questions but I do not know how many I can answer. Continue to the open grass.”

He was less than keen to argue with what he presumed to be God or some god and kept moving along the path of dead flowers that sprouted back to life once he passed them.

“What do I do now?”

“Lay down.”

He laid down and stared at the sky again, marvelling at it. The world, the galaxy, the universe, all of it was so large. When he thought about how insignificant he was, he felt a little hopeless and a little awed. Could he have thought that way when he was still alive? He was sure he couldn’t. He didn’t care enough.

He reached out to a nearby flower so he could look at it more closely. A rue. “What happens next?” he asked as he fingered the petals. “Do I move on to the afterlife? Do I go to heaven or… hell?” He gulped the last word. He contributed next to nothing to society, so imagining himself in heaven was difficult.

“No. This is not like those places you speak of.”

“Is this purgatory?” he asked.

“No. Those places, whether they exist or not, do not matter to me. This place is none of those. This is a special place few pass through”

“Oh…” he wasn’t going to heaven or hell. That was a relief. But, if this wasn’t a place like heaven or hell, then what was it? He wanted to ask him but he feared another vague answer or no answer at all. Perhaps it was simply a final resting place.

A moment of silence filled the air.

“Who are you?” he asked, unable to keep his nerves down.

“I am… I am unsure of how to answer.”

“Are you the only one here? Are these flowers yours?” He barraged the voice with questions so they would keep on talking.

“I am not always the only one here. You are here right now.” as the voice spoke those words, he felt his heart ache for the voice. It was alone. “The flowers… they are not mine. I simply watch them. I watch over them.”

He laughed. “Then that makes you something like the gardener of this place.”

“The Gardener?”

“Yeah!” he replied, surprised at his own enthusiasm. “Since you watch over them, you’re kinda like their gardener. It might not be the exact word but it’s close enough. You know, my mom works with flowers.”

“She did? It seems we may have been fated to meet then.”

He shrugged, “I don’t know if being the son of a florist makes us fated to meet. Fate’s a strong word. There are lots of florists’ sons in the world.”

“Did you love her?” The Gardener asked.

“My mother? Did?”

“Yes, did you love your mother? Since you are no longer living,” the voice said.

He doesn’t know. Then maybe he isn’t God.

“Mhm,” he answered. “I did love her… I loved all my family… Though, it’s been a long time since I could say that.”

“But you only recently died.”

“Yeah. It was only recently,” he smiled slightly. Talking to The Gardener had made him feel better. Maybe just a bit more. “Hey-”

“It is time,” The Gardener announced. “I enjoyed our conversation.”

Wait!

He panicked. He wasn’t expecting it so soon. Where was he going? What was going to happen to him? He almost leaped out of the grass bed but an incredible wave of exhaustion washed over him.

“Do you recognize the flower hanging over you?”

He closed his eyes.

“Do not fear it. Look at the flower above you. Do you recognize it?”

Slowly, he opened them. Ah. “So it’s going to invade this space too,” he said, less than enthused. “Of all the flowers to grow where I’m moving on, it’s going to be a dandelion?”

“Yes. But before you go, would you like a parting gift?”

“What kind of gift?"

“...” The Gardener seemed to think, “What did you call it? A Persona?”

“AH!” He covered his face. “Shut up! Don’t say it anymore. I don’t need something like that.”

“I see. Then I shall hold onto this wish for you. May I ask your name before you leave?

"Oh, it's Ray, if it matters at all. It's not a big deal, really. Nobody's called me by my name in a long time. You could probably just call me 'you' or 'hey'," he said in a self-deprecating tone.

"So you bear little attachment to your name?"

"I guess so."

"I understand. I shall keep it in mind anyway. Are you prepared for what is next?”

“What’s going to happen?” he asked.

“You are going to receive another chance.”

“Another chance at what?”

“Life.”