This is what I woke up dreaming about a couple of weeks ago. And you wonder why I write books?


I strolled through the maze of tall buildings supported one level above ground by a myriad of giant square columns. Books rested in my hands. One was an address book of some sort and the other was a copy of Dark Canvas. People hustled by me in every direction, reminiscent of my years in college and the in-between-class bustle of everyday schedules. A girl appeared in front of me also holding books and smiled like she was about to speak. Her name was Martin, or was that my name? A scream disrupted my questions and I looked back to see people begin to run. Big, heavy machines were very slowly descending into the spaces between the buildings and people who couldn’t get out of the way were being crushed. I turned back to the girl to tell her to run but she was gone. I looked in every direction but even with wide open spaces  in every direction, I couldn’t see a trace.

The next thing I know I am stepping out from under landing feet of one of the giant machines and some beast that looks like a variation of an airborne Caymanian crocodile comes at me opening its jaws wide as it approaches. I don’t feel particularly scared, but as I raise my hand in an instinctive defensive gesture, the beast hits some sort of invisible barrier and proceeds to disintegrate slowly from front to back as it pierces the plane of the obstruction. The remains become pollen and dust particles that blow away on the gentle breeze until nothing remains.

No one else seems to notice.

I continue walking to some destination I couldn’t seem to remember. The blustering of other students has diminished and the huge machines were no longer in evidence. I paused at a concrete bench and glanced around trying to recall which direction I wanted to go. No information was forthcoming, but I had a sudden need to find the girl again.  While I considered this, I turned to sit on the bench only to find that two people had appeared there, one lying on the bench face up with a smug look on his face nearly obscured by a book he was holding, and the other standing by him in a sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. Hoody turned to me and spoke, his face occluded by the shadow across his face.

“Get out,” he said. His tone wasn’t one of fear but of anger and threat. Smug face lowered his book and turned to me repeating the other’s comment. “Get out!”

I felt no need to disagree with them and even considered that their suggestion might be a good one. Eschewing any verbal response to the strange pair, I turned again only to see Martin in the distance once again holding her books, smiling and waving. Hers seemed as good a destination as any for the moment, so I accelerated away from the bench twins favoring her direction.


This is what I woke up dreaming about this morning. And you wonder why I write books?

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