As I'm sleeping, I dream the most dreadful of dreams.
I dream that Ales and I are sitting next to each other on a couch, and he has a photo album in his hands.
"Look at this, Autumn," he says, holding open the photo album.
"Ooh," I say teasingly. "Am I going to get to see some baby pictures of little Ales?"
"No, it's not like that," Ales says. "This album shows the future, not the past. It's something I picked up in Heaven, for use with special Guardian Angel jobs. Why don't you open it?"
I nod enthusiastically, and open the book.
The first picture shows an image of Ales and I, dancing our way around my bedroom. I look a little older – maybe eighteen, nineteen years old? Ales looked the same.
The second picture shows me wearing a long white gown, an unmistakable wedding dress. Ales stood off to the distance, watching me unseen, though still looking the same as ever.
The third picture shows Ales and I in a big house, swinging outside on a porch swing. I look a lot older, maybe around thirty-five or so, but Ales still looked the same age.
I'm flipping through the pictures faster and faster now, not wanting to see any more of these awful pictures.
The last one I look at shows me with wrinkled skin and gray hair, and Ales still looks exactly the same way as he does now.
"Ales, don't show me this!" I cry. He obliges, but drops the book.
The book falls open to a picture of a coffin, reading the name, "Autumn Azalia" on it. Ales stands nearby, still his young age, crying over me.
I wake up with a start, drenched in sweat.