Processional

The man driving the car has one hand on the wheel and one around my wrist. He keeps it low so no one else can tell he is doing this. I try to pull away, but when I do, he reaches out and pinches his nails into my thumb. It really hurts, but I still think that maybe I can open the car door and throw myself out. I turn, in spite of the pain, and try to get my feet in position to kick him. I think that might distract him enough that the car will swerve and he will have to concentrate on driving long enough for me to get away. But I am afraid.

He is going to kill me. I know that. He is also going to kill the two young men in the back seat and I wonder why one of them does not reach forward and throttle him. There are three of us. Surely we should be able to escape instead of going to our deaths like sheep. It is a surreal feeling knowing I am going to die soon and I try to stay calm. There are two large old fashioned cart type wagons ahead of us. They are filled with men whose heads I can barely see above the wagon’s edge. They are going to die too. It is a procession, but a grisly one if anyone knew what it was about, only they don’t.

Outside the world is very rural, yet it is still a town. There is a large plaza where people sit at round tables reading papers on the right and a large dark square columned building on the left. A man in white clothing walks a burro down the street away from us and a long parade of mules go past us as they march the other way, out of town, two by two. I look at their tails swinging slightly as they lumber on and think how normal it all looks. Then I remember the tall men in gray robes, long gray faces hidden in the shadows of their hoods and I am even more afraid.

I kick the driver, hard, with both feet and reach up to grab the door handle. I tumble out of the car, but before I even land, the man is standing beside me and he is so angry. Now I am so afraid I cannot move, or speak. I look around for help, but no one seems to even notice us. Once more he grabs my arm and drags me away…and I wake up.

That was this morning and now I still don’t want to go back to bed.