The boy turned to his father, face aglow. For a moment I was flattered that my gift had meant so much. But his eyes held a question when they returned to me. I nodded yes.

In a flash the boy grabbed his father by the shirtsleeve and fled. The pair hastily entered a rusty, blue box on wheels which then sped away. Somehow, I felt drawn to them, tied to them somehow. On joyfully aching wings, stale from a century’s rest, I took flight and tracked the rolling contraption of conveyance.

A new city rose before me, and I soared amidst novel canyons placed there since I had begun my slumber. The box weaved in and out amongst other boxes, though most were not as rusty nor tired looking. At last it came to rest before an impressive square building with an austere exterior. Though it bore a cross, I knew this was no church. I did not feel the ancient pull at this place.

They entered, and I perched on the rooftop to stare down into the courtyard. Pain and fear rose up from within the walls to greet my soul.