The streets around me are always full of faceless people. Avoiding them becomes some sort of ethereal video game, hopping in and out of traffic like a sick game of Frogger.
I’m in a rush, and the faster I walk, the slower the landscape around me, a mix-mash of industrial buildings and corporate saloons, seem to slow into a dull blur.
I know it’s a dream. Well, now i do.
A large deep-crimson building stands 100 feet in front of me, my mother crying out for me to hurry.
“My legs are carrying me as fast as I can, Mom,” i shout back.
My own mind is wasting my time. I have a place to be.
Flash to a sterile room; green in that sort of hospital lime-green color permiates the place. My wife, sweaty, and beet-red as she pushes.
She should have a C-Section. It’s a dream.
“Push honey. Not much longer now.”
“I know, damnit!” she cries.
“I love you.”
The wail of a newborn rents the air, and the small angel is thrusted in to my arms.
“What do we name her,”
“We name her Meagan,” I say, “Meagan my angel”