Alive

He wakes up. Reboots, remembers who he is, what he's like, and what he needs to do.
He showers to wash off the flustered restlessness from last night's plenary of dreaming.
The dreams comfort him, give him something new.
The stove knob is turned- no spark. The acrid gas floats. The smell is bitter to him, but he inspires anyway.
Maybe to wake himself up, to remind himself of what page of the comic book he is in.
It is nauseating, but he breathes even deeper, making him giddy.

In the haze of morning someone asks him if he has a piece of gum. He has one last piece but doesn't give it to them.

A clover appears to him, insignificant to everyone else.
He adores it, by himself in the middle of a field.
The fact that it exists there, next to him; makes him euphoric- almost to the point of tears.
It's three little glazed over eyes look through his shaking body.
"It's... beautiful." he stammers.
The pure blissful simplicity of it, of everything, galvanizes him.

He relishes and sees the tranquilly in every aspect of life.
He is pure in every thought.
He is alive.