You are standing in the middle of an empty intersection. Your breathing is heavy. You thrash your head wildly about gazing around you; for what, you are not sure, but you do know that you are afraid. Suddenly, you are running. You don't know where you are running to, and you have made so many quick turns you don't know that you could find your way back to where you were, even if you wanted to. Which you don't. For you are now aware of a howling and a screaming coming from behind you. You feel as if you were in a labyrinth. You run like mad. Your legs are getting heavy. You run like mad. Your chest is heaving. You run farther. You run because they are behind you. You can feel their hot, steamy breath on your sweaty sticky neck. You feel the pounding of hundreds, perhaps thousands; no millions of them. You grow heavier. You now realize that they are not just behind you, they are at your sides, and even in front of you. They are herding you to a destination, which only they know. 

 

All is quiet. You are standing still. You breath heavily. Your body is exhausted. You feel something getting closer to you. Before you. At your sides? All around you! Disembodied hands begin to appear. They start to grope at you, some merely sliding along your body pulling by virtue of the friction of contact. Some gripping tightly, and with some unimaginable, intangible mass pulling you down. Then, faces appear. Headless, bodiless faces. They are laughing. They are crying. They are smiling. They are angry. They are sad. The sadness grips you. The anger frightens you. The smiles warm you. The crying touches you. And the laughter unsettles you. It is a taunting which bores to the very core of you soul. The hands are still there. First poking, then prodding, now pulling once again. Pulling you down. To where? You don't know. Forever it seems, you are pulled down. You try to scream, but you have no voice. The hideous, howling laughter returns, joined by crying, and shouting. All of the sounds to go with the faces; and the hands seem to grope at you accordingly. The sounds grow louder, all mixing into one voice. You feel trapped in a path, led by the hands and faces. you try to scream again, but cannot.

 

You are sitting up in bed. The alarm is buzzing next to you. You slowly recognize the dream for what it was, as you wearily shake the sleep from your head. You still are a bit shaken, but are comforted by the fact that it was only a dream.

 

You get up from the bed and as you begin your morning routine of showering, brushing you teeth, brushing and drying your hair, readying and eating your breakfast, and finally driving off; you think of the day ahead of you. It is Saturday and you have to go to the office and finish a report for your boss. Then Johnny has to be brought to drop off the money for the papers he delivers. The shopping must get done. Johnny has a little league game this afternoon. The lawn has to be mowed, and then salads and meats prepared for the guests coming for the cook-out tonight. And you can't forget the pool, your guests will want to swim, so you have to clean the pool, too.

 

As you are shaking the water from your hair, you ever so briefly think again of the hands and faces of your dream, but as quickly as the thought came, it is gone again and you are left alone in your bathroom. Alone for a brief moment as you begin another day.