Dreamscape

A deep pit, a crumbling edge, at the bottom, a pool swarming with sauropods. There is someone, a boy. I shouldn't have taken the child here. I'm slipping, taking him with me; he won't let go of my hand. We are sliding on the scree. A gun heavy on my hip, its weight drags us down, to where saw-toothed muggers thrash in a melee. It's then that I transition. I’m a visitor, two-dimensional in a hurrying cityscape. I've lost my car in one of many similar concrete blocks. Home is a door in the back of my mind A door not opened yet, I suspect behind it is a child who knows his way back. He’s holding a tin wind-up crocodile, one his dad once bought him. At his side a revolver, the same type I purchased in Florida in the event of alligator attack.