Through the window, I saw the future. 

Dreams are always strange, but this . . . I actually felt like I was in the dream. The hairs on my arms rose from the chill behind the window.  Definitely weird.

Without deciding whether I should be curious or worried that I was physically present in the dream, I looked out the window. Various types of flowers covered the ground, meticulously organized into rows as would be in a farm. Tulips, poppies, sunflowers, forget-me-nots, and countless more species were delicately arrayed across the field. Fertilizer was placed at the base of each stem to provide life to the roots. Leaning up against the glass pane, I searched for the owner of the flower farm, but nothing stirred within sight of the window. 

A slithering caution chilled me, something about the barrenness of the field. Still hoping to figure where I was and why, I turned away from the window. Cozy blankets and pillows had been lovingly stretched across the bed by the unseen owner. Against the wall across from me rested a broom and dustpan, as if the room had just been swept. Modern vases sat on the bookshelf, fresh flowers were arrayed inside, the floor was recently swept, and the hamper was empty of all laundry except one day’s outfit.

 What a nice room.

A lamp and a tattered Bible sat on the desk as if it had been there for years. Dust gathered over some chapters in 1 Kings, and the pages were crinkled and discolored. It was the only dirty thing in the room. Again. Weird.

I slowly crept outside the bedroom, curiosity overtaking my fear. The reddish door opened to the living room and connected kitchen. Light from a muted TV shown on a steaming pie. With a quick glance, I caught sight of the news channel. The banner revealed something about education.

I walked past the couch and peered through the sliding door that led to the flower field. My clammy hands gripped the knob, but I paused.

What if there’s something bad out there? This place is creepy . . . 

But a feeling rose in my chest: You need to get out there. Grasping the knob firmly, I slid open the door. There was no point in staying. Unless I wanted to sit on the couch and watch the news in a house I didn’t own.

The sky was captivatingly blue, the ideal for a picnic, and cotton clouds graced the never-ending expanse. The flowers’ alluring scent immediately drew me into the field. 

I bent down to a crimson tulip, my hair draping in front of my face. The caution in my chest from earlier returned, but I ignored it. Out of all the flowers, the pollen of this one wafted its sweet smell to my nostrils as it swayed in the wind. I smiled. I’d always loved flowers, and tulips were my favorite. I reached out my hand and gently caressed the velvet petals.

The tulip withered into black dust.

I shot up. The warning in my stomach was now impossible to ignore. It just . . . disintegrated. I studied my hands, but they looked normal. Nothing seemed wrong. It shouldn’t have disintegrated! I let out a short scream.

A windmill in the distance creaked like a door in a horror movie. I took a deep breath to recover and gulped, wiping the dirt from my pants. Afraid to touch any more flowers, and with no desire to go back to the empty house, I headed for the windmill. Maybe the farmer would be inside. 

The windmill door opened with ease against my fingers. I took a deep breath and stepped in. Vigilantly, I glanced about in hopes of finding someone, anyone in this lonely place. My chest and stomach panged with greater ferocity. It’s dangerous. But my curiosity outweighed my churning gut. A crooked staircase led to the top of the windmill. I tested the sturdiness of the first step with my foot. Once I felt it was secure, I placed my full weight on it and continued up.

The top of the stairs opened to the roof, where the wind was stronger, blowing my hair in front of my face. There! On the roof, a young man dressed in a collared black shirt stood with his back toward me, looking out toward the flower field. 

That must be the farmer!

I braced myself against the balcony’s railing. My lips parted to call out to him, to ask him if he was the farmer, but he spoke first. “Destiny, how many flowers do you see?”

How does he know my name? I froze. He didn’t look like a farmer. As he waited, I stepped beside him and looked over the railing to the field. The flowers stretched farther than I could see, merging with the sky. 

My voice barely came out of my throat. “Well, there has to be millions. Hundreds of millions.”

“And yet each one is unique. Destiny, what happened to the flower you touched?” He said every word without looking at me.

I frowned guiltily. If he was the farmer, would he punish me for destroying one of his flowers? “It turned to dust.”

His expression fell somber as he stretched his hand out to the field. Following the motion of his hand, the beautiful pattern of colors transformed into a black mass, until only a few vibrant flowers remained. I stared in horror at the destruction. The ground was invisible from all the pitch black dust. I felt like throwing up.

I backed up. A flower disintegrating was one thing, but he just made a whole field fall to ash. My hands shook as I stared sharply at the man, stepping away in fear he would turn me to ash as well. But the glow of his face and the gentleness in his eyes relaxed me.

The stranger lifted his voice with authority. “I spent years preparing this field for my flowers. I spent my days tilling the ground, watering, fertilizing, perfecting it for my flowers. I planted each seed and bulb with my hands. I took special care of each one. Destiny, what happened to my flowers?”

I stared at the black mass on the ground. “Well, you just . . . destroyed them. Like I did.”

“All I did was remove the illusion. The flowers of my field withered years ago. I will find another field. This one has turned rotten.” He started confidently toward the stairs.

A defiance swelled in my throat. It was such a beautiful field. Filled with all my favorite flowers, it stirred up gladness and joy in my heart. “But sir, you can’t abandon this field. You put so much work into it. You–you could restore it.” 

He turned back at me with pained eyes. “Will you restore this mess of a field? Will you bring those flowers back?”

I searched for words. “I–I can help. Just don’t abandon this place.” I didn’t know why I cared about the field so much. It was practically barren, and starting over was more logical. But a fire in my heart burned for the once beautiful field.

Calculating eyes stared at me, piercing deep into my own. The man softened his gaze and looked into the sky, where the clouds drifted in the force of the high winds. “If this field chooses to grow, and not to wither, as those that still stand even in the dust, I will water and feed the flowers once more.”

“Really? You will?” Hope lifted my heart, though I wasn’t sure how flowers could choose to live or die.

I walked up to him to thank him, but he descended the windmill stairs without saying another word. I followed him down as quickly as I could on the rickety steps, but I couldn’t find him. He’d disappeared. Uncertain, I checked the field, but there weren’t even any footprints other than my own. The farm was abandoned. 

As I looked for him, one word repeated unrelentingly in my mind: if.

The sun’s light woke me. I struggled against its ferocity, pulling the covers over my eyes to shield myself. But I was awake. I sighed, wishing I could continue sleeping, and continue my dream, but I reluctantly pulled the covers away from my face. I stepped out of bed, yawning. Why in the world would I dream something like that? I rubbed focus into my groggy eyes, grabbing my water for a drink. My American flag hanging on my wall came into view. It was strange how the red stripes of the flag perfectly matched the color of the tulip before it withered. . . I dropped the bottle as the image of the tulip withering pierced my mind. It wasn’t just a dream! I fell to my knees, that one word hanging on my mind: if.