This is not my dream. It belongs to somebody else. It buzzes against my skull trying its damnedest to get out of there as I have a look around at a world I've never seen before.
These strangers and I are packed together in this slow car, and the cars are packed together in this roadway, and all we want to do is get the hell away from the explosions.
Even the smoke is packed. Thick and hot, almost solid.
Methodically, we all push forward, and every once in a while we must hop out and actually push the cars through the mud and the muck. All together now. Heave! All together now. Ho!
Watch out for the little ones. It's so hard to see them once they are covered in mud. Big eyes blink up at me from below. I pluck her up and tuck her into the hatchback. Not really safe and not really sound. But it's what we got.
These are not my people.
This is not my language.
But I understand plenty.
A mama is screaming in one of the other cars. It's the car that's trying to edge past ours as we go around the corners. We let it through. There is a boy who is bleeding in the back seat.
Get out and help! Hurry now, we are all crying, even though it doesn't help. I can't be sure, but I think some of us are also praying.
Is he dead? Is that bleeding boy dead?
Of course not. Of course not. You stop bleeding when you die.
This is not my nightmare.
I tell somebody this is not my world.
Hey, I don't belong here. I shouldn't be here.
But they can't understand me. This is not their language.
And I am certain they do not care where I belong, because I am here now, and we need to push through the sludge and the smoke.
All together now. Heave! All together now. Ho!
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