Flashes of white scatter across my black canvas. These flashes turn to images--memories. I… I see a tree. The tree has a swing set tied to the tallest branch. Several feet away lies the oak bench. My father and I spent weeks building it, trying to perfect every part of it. The wind blows gently, and the leaves fall to the ground in a barrage of colors. The swing set floats back and forth, embracing the scenery. The air is fresh with a sting a cool. The setting sun levitates just above horizon and the hills. It feels warm against my skin. This is peace. It’s lovely. It’s home. But then comes a jolt, and the colors begin to smear. The vibrant rays turn to dark smudges. The trees melt away. The bench melts away. The entire image melts away into a murky puddle of grey, and it turns to black. I awake in a dark chamber. Drips of tainted water falls to the murky ground. Paradise is over.