The Eighteenth Proposal.

Dark clouds dominate the sky. Like a black sunroof hiding the sun. Purple lightning jumps from one cloud to another. No wind. Only numbness. Crows fly towards the east, flapping their wings without a break. No fear of the purple lightning.

On the land, five men gather. A building is behind them. Their boots crush the dried leaves spread across the area. They stand silent, with faces full of dullness. Before them— a coffin. Made of wood. Iron borders.

At the centre of the coffin, a steel board— Your dream will end soon… And also a name— Lyra Sol.

There is a big neem tree. Green leaves give a natural look to the tree. But not all the leaves are green. Some are becoming yellow. Some have fallen onto the ground. Under the shade of the tree, a boy with red hair stands. His hair is a hybrid of silky and curly hair. His eyes glow red, unblinking as he watches the five men. His face is without life. He wears an oversized black T-shirt and three-fourth cotton pants.

“I don’t want this kind of ending,” he whispers. He tightens his fist. “I won’t let her die like this.” His fist punches the tree. The tree shakes. “I have to save her!” He kneels as his head lowers. A drop from his eyes touches the ground. The soil absorbs the drop.

Then, the dark clouds precipitate. Gravity pulls the raindrops down. A roar of thunder shakes the sky.

After some moments…

The red-haired boy sits on a bed, and the roar still echoes in his mind. No light is switched on. He is alone in the darkness. His face looks hollow. His eyes are already dry without tears.

“Orphans always die like this,” his voice cracks. “She died. The reason is money.”

He steps down from the bed. For the moment— no raindrop sound. No thunder sound. Except—

“Crims.”

A strange female voice. Terrifying.

His chest tightens. He breathes heavily. Without a moment’s hesitation, he rushes towards the door. Tension fills his face. Running towards the big neem tree.

Rain doesn’t stop. It keeps increasing constantly. The raindrops are pierced by purple lightning. He stops near the tree. Some carvings are on the trunk of the tree. His eyes move towards the carvings—

William Crims loves Lyra Sol.

And a heart around it.

He touches the carvings. A small smile forms on his face. Calm.

Slowly, he turns. Moving towards the place where the coffin is buried underground. He falls to his knees. His hands start digging. The soil sticks beneath his nails. But he doesn’t stop. Bleeding begins from his fingers. His jaws shiver. Finally, his wounded fingers touch the wooden coffin. His knees go numb.

Then, he opens it.

Inside it— a girl with purple hair. Wearing a white T-shirt with text on it—

Don’t Die in Dreams.

She is still breathing. Very slowly. Veins bulge out.

“Lyra…” shattered voice.

Two days ago…

The sun smiles in the blue sky. Wind blows, shaking the branches of the neem tree. The voices of the birds make the surroundings pleasant. A white feather slowly lands on the red hair while he carves into the trunk of the big tree. He uses a strong nail. His eyes are filled with curiosity.

“Lyra! I live because of you.” He speaks to the tree. “Accept me!”

He laughs— full of happiness.

His hand picks the feather from his head. His face begins to dull.

“I proposed to her seventeen times,” dullness in his voice. “But she rejected all my proposals.” He looks at the carving. “I won’t lose hope.” He exhales— slow. Steady. “You will accept me.” He continues. “I will wait until you accept!” He hugs the trunk of the tree. Eyes closed.

Behind him— two girls wearing sleeveless tops and thigh-high tights.

“Hey! What happened to him?”

He turns his head. His reaction becomes weird. Without a word, he steps away from the place.

Footsteps echo in the corridor of the first floor. William Crims walks through the corridor. His red hair shakes with every step he takes. He carries a red rose in his hand. His posture shows confidence.

“Lyra is going to accept my eighteenth proposal!” Joy fills his voice.

His legs stop before a room door. He knocks on the door. But no response. Then he pushes the door with less force. The door opens.

“Lyra baby!” Happiness in his voice.

He enters.

The room lighting is dim blue. The bed is in the right corner. Lyra sits there on a wooden board. Beside her— a boy. Muscular.

He wears a tight purple shirt and dim white pants. Lyra holds his hand firmly. Not letting go anymore.

Crims hides the rose behind him. Tears start filling his eyes. But he controls them. Even his heart goes numb. Sweat forms on his feet.

“Who gave you permission to enter my room?” She raises her voice. “Get out!”

Beyond everything, he makes a smile. That is a smile to hide everything.

After watching the smile, discomfort appears on her face.

Crims leaves the room silently. Tears don’t come out from his eyes. He stands cold outside the room. A tear finally rolls down from his eye. He places the rose in front of the room door.

“I am worthless,” Crims says while his jaws shiver.

After a day…

The sun doesn’t shine. Because dark clouds hide it. Silence spreads through the atmosphere. It feels heavy. No movement comes from the branches of the tree.

Beneath it, Crims sits holding his knees with his hands. He is alone until a boy arrives there.

The boy wears a brown jacket over a blue shirt and long black jeans. His face seems dreadful. He breathes heavily.

“Crims!” he calls.

Something sounds bad in his voice.

Crims raises his head.

Their eyes meet.

Fear fills the boy’s eyes.

“Lyra is affected by the disease,” the boy says with a lowered voice.

Crims’ breath catches.

“Dream Disease.” Crims’ voice trembles. “Call the Dream Walkers!”

“We can’t call them!”

“Why?”

“Because… the orphanage can’t pay for them!”

In the rainy night…

The whole land becomes muddy. Walking on the muddy land is very hard. Crims walks even through this land. Lyra is on his shoulder. His legs tremble. But they don’t stop. His breath presses against the air.

He carries her while his legs step onto the staircase.

“Lyra… I am with you…”

The first-floor corridor is slippery. But his grip does its job. Crims’ room door is not locked.

Inside his room—

A woman stands there.

Wearing a pink night dress. Her long black hair moves as she steps forward. Seriousness fills her face.