… and then he awoke …
The disturbingly vivid images, the heart-pounding anxiety, the Tantalus-like goals still dominated, but the familiarity of his own bed and room, the comforting reality of his own nighttable, lamp and dresser, of the morning light, began to blur and soften them.
Besides, he had to shake them off, slowly perhaps, but soon, because he had to ready himself. In a few hours he would be on a trans-antlantic flight, traveling far to give an important presentation.
Hmmm. While dressing, he realized that he still needed to find an appropriate tie to wear. He knew which one, and where to find it, and so left his house. It wouldn't take long - a street here, a turn there, another street, another turn, one more street, one more turn - soon he would be there …
But what about the presentation? No, he had not taken it home, as he should have - it was still at the office in the briefcase. Maybe the tie was there as well. Well, there was still time.
But from here, the place where he now stood, the office was on the other side of town, and the way was arduous. He had to scramble through back yards, he had to climb over fences, and then came to a steep rocky hill. The path half-way up led along a cliff face with a terrifying leap over a gap. He shuddered, having gone this way often before, with dread and fear every time. Once again, with heart drumming loudly, stretching, clutching the stone, he reached the other side, and continued on his way.
Time moved on inexorably while the travel departure stood still. There were more and more things to do and less and less time for them. Soon the taxi would arrive.
That's when he realized that he didn't have his passport.
Again, he changed his direction and turned onto another road. Along it, he saw a restaurant, and entered it for a restorative meal and for a moment of respite. It was a lovely place with white tablecloths and a garden terrace view of lush lawn, thick bushes and green trees. It was quiet and calm. No one had come yet to serve him. That's when he noticed the smoke.
Down the street there were high multi-story attached buildings, and there were flames in one. It was not a conflagration, but like single orange-red banners waving upward. But not just in that one, there were more in another building. He looked more closely, and saw yet a third one burning. Was it arson, or did one catch fire from the other? Would it spread, and to yet others?
His home was on that same street, across from these buildings. He had to hurry back to protect his place, maybe from arsonists, at least from the fires across the street.
He was home again. He had to walk carefully, avoiding the spaces in the floor, the loose and rotting boards, the holes in the walls, the rickety stairs long in need of repair. The fires on the other side waved more flaming banners, and there were further signs of smoke and flame across the street.
… and then he awoke …
– Peter E. Schmidt