King: I felt my own death rising up around me. I floated past chunks of the house I built, or started building. Scarcely 10 years later, and the whole thing was in ruins. My works were meant to last forever, but most of them will be gone before I am.
I was at a funeral -- my own, as it turned out. No one was there except you. I saw my monument, my last hope of leaving something that would live on after me. And I began to walk towards it. And with each step I took, I got larger. I just kept growing and growing like a teenager. With a gentle push, my monument crumbled and sank. I saw my life's work laid out in front of me. Soon it would crumble into dust, or be painted over by someone who would come after me, the same way I painted over what was here before me. When the universe ended, I knew that everything I'd made was over.
And as I sat there looking out into the darkness, I thought back on all the things I'd built and left unfinished. I realized something -- I wasn't sad that it was all gone. I had fun making all that stuff. I would have done it anyway. And then somehow I knew that when I woke up, all my work really would be destroyed. And that's when you showed up. I don't know how you got here but I'm glad to see you. I have something for you. This brush isn't mine anymore. My work is over. It belongs to you now. I hope it makes you happy and that someday, they will say, "He is a better man than his father."
That door will take you anywhere you want to go. But leave quickly, child. None of this will last for long.
Narrator: And that night, even though he was very tired, Monroe did something that would have made his mother very happy. He painted.