"Priest!"
"Fr. Anthony!"
The blurry voices echoed by his ear, as if someone were calling out something.
Who?
Who is Anthony?
He couldn't figure it out. He only felt these voices were noisy, disturbing his slumber. He was so very tired now, only wanting to sink into sleep; as for whether he would ever wake again, in his view, that no longer mattered.
In his current state, he did not understand the so‑called words "wake up," "Anthony," "future," or the meanings they contained.
He was more like some creature with only the simplest of thoughts, soaking in a slightly viscous liquid, wrapped in warmth, currents of water brushing over his body like a woman's gentle caress, soothing his spirit, letting him sink into the depths of darkness, to sleep there forever.
There was nothing wrong with this. Yes, nothing wrong at all.
Within his simple mind, a trace of more complex thought surfaced, and those complex thoughts in turn hooked out something like a dreamlike scene.
