I was at a party at EL’s house, which surprised me by its size and mysteriousness; it reminded me of the house I dream that my late aunt in Bellwood had. I was also intrigued by how she had come by it and how she could afford it. It was nothing like her first modest suburban home I’d known.
JT arrived, and at first I thought to avoid her because I thought she was still angry with me. We ended up on a ride together that went around the top floor on rails. The destination was an author’s book signing, but I was told I must meet this person and tell him (her?) about my great story ideas — except that I don’t have any.
At first we inched toward the booth because the author was so popular. Subtly, the ride began to accelerate and to fly in higher and higher circles. Just as I was sure I would be flung into the heights and die, it stopped near the ceiling. To extract me, the rescuers had to remove my clothes and cover me with hand and bath towels.
I found a tiny little shirt I thought belonged to the daughter of a former co-worker, but she didn’t seem interested. I saw then that it had become a beautiful sweater dress. In the meantime, a little boy kept trying to peer down the back of my pants. Irritated, I looked for his parents, but none were to be seen. His actions and the fact he was getting away with them appalled me as I considered the ramifications of disciplining him myself.
I was on a boat, and with each circuit of the bay it seemed to get larger; the deck rose high above the water’s surface. This alone would have frightened me, but I also noticed that the ship was in pursuit of a young woman. Her name flashed through my mind. The ship, which felt like it was flying faster and faster like the rail ride, was forcing her into a defenseless position. I wanted to tell everyone what was happening, but fear silenced me. I looked down and saw her apparently crushed against a wall. Perhaps it was then I knew who was the villain behind the scheme and lost some of my fear. I tried to tell the others, but they didn’t believe me. All they knew was that they were having fun on a cruise to nowhere.
By talking to them, I had revealed my knowledge, so the villain tried to corner me in a parking lot. As terrified as I was, I sensed that I would escape — and that his victim’s name and my silence would haunt me always.
Finally, he trapped me but I avoided being crushed. He got out of the vehicle and approached me, but I felt that he would have to get close to me to kill me and that he had no physical advantage over me.
I saw a tiny needle in his hand and knew I had to avoid it. We struggled, and he pricked me slightly, but I rationalized that this would not hurt me. I gained partial control of the needle or needles and pricked him back several times — enough to save myself. As I did, I realized that now I was the one committing murder. I felt sad.