Zhang Zhou went to bed one night and had a dream that he woke up as a beautiful butterfly.
As a butterfly, he spent his days flitting and fluttering around the fields of flowers, happy and at peace with the world. He spent his entire life as a butterfly, just like that, doing as he pleased. Until one day, he went to sleep on the petals of one of the many flowers that made up his world, and he woke up again as Zhang Zhou, unmistakably and solidly a human man.
And so, for the rest of his human life, Zhang Zhou pondered:
Am I Zhang Zhou, who once dreamed he was a butterfly, or a butterfly, dreaming right now that it is Zhang Zhou?
…
If I looked back on my life throughout the years, I'd say I did a pretty good job for myself.
It wasn't always easy — my parents passed away when I was too young to remember their faces, and without any other family, money would always be a struggle, continued in my adulthood — but I wouldn't say that I've suffered any more than the next person. I always thought that with every challenge life throws at you, all you needed to do was keep your dignity intact and face them without faltering.
During high school, all I ever did was study and work part-time jobs, which eventually paid off when I could afford to move out of the facility when I was eighteen, and even attend a small university on an academic scholarship. I decided to major in education, thinking it was the best course of action to become a public servant. In the end, I managed to graduate without any trouble and even passed the state teaching exam on my first try.
… I led a respectable life without many twists or turns…
… I was a hard worker, recognized by my colleagues and superiors for my work ethic…
… Even without any family, I had a tight-knit group of friends I could always rely on…
… I had hobbies, like gaming and reading, and I'd like to think I lived every day to the fullest…
… I celebrated when times were good… cried when times were sad… and I even got to fall in love…
I never would've imagined I could lose it all so quickly.
"Don't do it!" The rain was falling so hard, I couldn't tell if my shouting was even registering for him. Even if it did, would he have stopped what he was doing?
I had been on my way home that day, standing at the bus station with my umbrella, when I first saw him. The bus was later than usual (because of the weather, I expect), and I noticed a boy — he looked a couple of years younger than me — standing several feet away from me.
He had no umbrella, which was why he caught my eye, and it looked like he had been standing out in the rain for a while; his clothes were soaked through, and his hair was matted against his face. He simply stood there looking downcast, incredibly still as if frozen in place, but when I looked closer, I could see him trembling, if just slightly. I couldn't tell if it was from the cold or —
And then suddenly he was on the move. His movements were so smooth and fluid, like I had caught him mid-walk rather than him simply standing just moments before, as he headed straight into the busy street, undeterred by the danger he was facing. No, not undeterred, determined to walk straight into his demise.
Maybe people gasped. But the sound of the rain and the traffic flooded my ears as my focus honed in on the boy and nothing else. "Hey!"
At what point did my feet move on their own? When the boy somehow miraculously made it to the middle of the street, why was it I who was racing to reach him? I heard the blaring sound of a horn before the headlights of the truck blinded me, and that was when I knew.
The boy was still once more, evidently having planted himself on his chosen grave plot. I was screaming at him to move, to no avail. When I finally reached him, there was no time for anything but to put all my force into a single shove, praying it would be enough.
The roaring rain. The busy street. The screams of terror. The truck honking at us.
The silence.
THE SILENCE.
…
If I looked back on my life throughout the years, I'd say I did a pretty good job for myself.
But now it all feels like a dream. A dream that ends in complete silence.
…
…
…
"Ophelia!"
I know that name.
"Ophelia!"
I know that voice, too. But why does it sound like they're crying?
They keep calling out my name. At this rate, it's going to continue bothering me, so I open my eyes and let the light flood in.
I immediately regret this choice — the sunlight attacks my eyes, and it takes several moments to adjust to my surroundings. My first instinct is to rub them, but when I try to move my arms, I realize I can barely lift them at all. In fact, my entire body feels like it's being tied down by several tons of sandbags. Even keeping my eyes open feels like a struggle.
But that was the least of my concerns. As I stare up at a ceiling that I can't pinpoint where I know it from, I'm able to piece together that I'm currently lying down in bed. On my side, I can hear the sound of someone gasping and the metallic crash of something falling to the floor.
"She's awake!"
The sounds of shoes against a floorboard as someone rushes out of the room. "Call the doctor immediately! She's awake! She's finally awake!" a shrilly voice cries out.
Antonia…
Suddenly, my sight, which was already limited to looking up only at the ceiling, becomes blurry and flooded with tears. I feel them run down my face, unable to wipe them away.
How could I have forgotten?
Soon, that single voice is joined by several more as a commotion breaks out in what I'm assuming is the hallway:
"Is it true? Has she really woken up?"
"After all this time! "
"It's a miracle!"
"Three years! Can you believe it? Everyone had already lost all hope!"
Three years? Has it really been that long? I listen to the rustling sounds of a crowd as the voices eventually make their way back into the room.
I want to speak up, but my throat is so dry. Someone leans over my face and into my line of vision: an elderly woman in servants' clothes, a face covered in familiar wrinkles that I hadn't seen in ages.
Antonia… my Antonia…
"Oh, my dear lady Ophelia," she sobs, eyes brimming with tears. "And here I thought I would never see those beautiful eyes of yours again!"
"Wait!" another voice exclaims. "I think she's trying to speak!"
A hush falls over the room. With incredible strain, I force my lips to move. And after some time, I manage to choke out the first word I'll have said in three years, apparently:
"... Water."