Sunday, January 31, 2010
"America's Most Wanted"
The little girl and I strolled hand in hand toward the water. Without warning, violent waves crashed just in front of us, around us, threatening to sweep us into the vortex never to return. I picked up the girl and ran for our lives, luckily outrunning the raging waters.
Then they were coming. The bad guys, the ones who thought nothing of slitting your throat in one masterful stroke. Where to hide? Frantic, I opened and closed doors. None of them had locks. Even if they did, the bad guys would smash the locks or break down the doors. Then I saw it, a small, green refrigerator, the kind you might have in a basement for all the meat and chicken and soft drinks that wouldn't fit in the kitchen frig. Without a moment to lose, I pulled out shelves and bins, unplugged the wall socket, and somehow managed like a the girl in a Houdini magic act to step in and curl up just enough to close the door.
I could hear the bad guys rumbling into the building, climbing the stairs, and piling into the room with the green refrigerator. Then I listened in horror as one after another unsuspecting dancer met her fate. The bad guys showed no mercy, ignored all pleas. "Where are the keys?" they screamed. None of them knew about the keys. I had the keys stuffed in my jeans' pocket.
My only hope was to wait until the bad guys moved into the next room to slit the throats of more innocent dancers. I held my breath and listened until I could hear a pin drop. Without hesitation, I pushed opened the refrigerator door, put my feet on the floor, and ran as I'd run earlier in the day away from the waves. Only this time, I ran down stairs, in and out of empty rooms, through industrial spaces with acres of what looked like furnaces and large metal coils, and finally to an open window on the ground level. I could hear the bad guys not far behind me. With no time to lose, I pushed the window open as far as it would go, squeezed through the opening, and jumped, landing on a soft patch of dirt. I picked myself up and ran like the wind.
"There she is!," one of the bad guys yelled, one of his legs already out the open window.
I'd had enough. Only 50 feet or so separated me from the knife-wielding bad guys. Either this dream ended like a Hollywood movie with a large police van turning up just in the nick of time to roadblock the bad guys from me or I met my fate like all the others. I wasn't ready to die. Not like this. So, I forced my eyes open, measured my breathing, and stumbled into the bathroom.