Every night it’s the same.

I see myself walking down a crowded boulevard, maneuvering amongst the throngs before a white soulless building with a crested seal embellished above its set of double doors. I can see the throngs screaming at those entering, but I hear no sounds. The line to the doors shuffled slowly as they are pelted by small bottles, rocks and loose bricks from the desiccant buildings around them.

Flyers and posters nailed to cheap plywood sticks rise and fall above the crowds, all with demoralizing slurs that would put even the ruthless and cold hearted Westborough to shame- almost demonizing to be blunt. Mixtures of anger and stress painted these once humble faces, many of whom I’ve called friends and neighbors in this Mid-town Manhattan block.

The skies were grey and clouded by the once proud New York sky-line, a couple now stripped and abandoned of its occupants as the world around us slowly withered and decayed. Time had also seemed to slow with figures becoming blurs when I turned my gaze towards the pristine white structure before us. Even the slow shuffles seemed to last eternity, one foot nearly moving slower than a snail’s pace.
Amongst the second set of doors, leading away from the building, I see small clusters of those… things. Their bright colors nearly blinding at first sight against the cold steel and concrete, all spectrums of a rainbow from visible to barely recognizable; all with smiles and cheer plastered on their face.

I feel something brush my shoulder, to see a blur masked with a bandana and grey hood hiding his face force through the masses, a bottle filled with a foul smelling liquid and a damp rag in his hand with silver lighter in the other. I know a Molotov when I see one, having once been arrested for protesting myself back in the day.

I reach out to grab his arm holding the concoction, but time now afflicted me as the world began to regain its sense. The low whispers began to engulf my ear, then speaking and finally shouting as the man with the Molotov brought the lighter to the rag. A small spark clicked, almost deafening compared to the slurs and shouts starting to gain speed as slowed even faster. I wanted to speak but no words broke this silence.
A flame birthed from the spark rapidly ignited the rag, the embers and magnificence of the red and orange canvas devouring it with tremendous ease as the man pulled back the small silver box, preparing for the worse.

Then came a distorted and eriee sound, muffled by the bandana; again deafening as the flick if his lighter. Unlike the slurs and shouts of those around us, his sharpened almost instantly as the bottle began to slide from his fingers. To my utter amazement and horrified surprise, his words rang a hauntingly uncanny prose of an educated man, for rare if not anyone today would speak of an eventful night in our nation’s history.

“Sic Semper Tyrannus!”

The bottle rocketed out from his hand, skyward as all of time exploded to normalcy. Every aspect of sound as clear as day engulfed me, forcing me to grasps my head in agony from such sudden thunder yet my eyes remained on the flaming toxin flying through the air, before returning to the earth.
The smashed glass and following inferno transfixed the crowds, both protesting and forfeiting to shock and horror, oh alas I wish this was the end of it all. This was just the beginning as suddenly the street erupted in volcanic splendor, with a chorus presenting itself from the white marbled bastion before us. The seal above its doors cascading from its mount, screams of all strangled the slurs and silent remorse as debris and bodies flooded the air.
Shockwaves shattered glass of all the shops and apartments and car doors, splintering into panic chattel that was the mob and the defeated; even the bright colors of these beings that were once denizens of Kip’s Bay were not spared of the carnage and crimson stains. The inferno that wished to deem itself the gates of Hell spout form the blisters it made of the structure, incinerating all within a blink of an eye…
And charging at me.
I wanted to close my eyes, screaming to myself that it was all a dream. I peered through the slit form between my lids to see the masked Molotover, his back towards the flame staring back as he pulled the bandana down. Now I wished it was some stranger; a Front thug that had no name greeted me, but instead I see but a mirror.
I saw myself.
The flames engulfing us did not burn but instead decayed to strobing red markings, digitized numbers spanning from zero to nine, several combing to form two digits no more than thirty. An unfamiliar feminine voice started to speak as I look around me. The gruesome and horrific scene around me silenced by her announcing. The digits splintering and impacting everything and everyone around us. I look back to see the imposter suddenly in front of me as the announcing numbers grew louder, accompanied by a low buzz as he knelt down to meet his “eyes” to mine.

“We need to wake up the others.”

I jolted upright, sweating coating every inch of my exposed skin and breathing heavily. I could hear the buzzing and rapidly scanned every aspect of my room, to find the source being my cheap radio alarm clock lent to me by my father, bless his soul. The red digitized numbers read out seven oh one in the morning. My hyperventilation started to slow as I once again glanced about my small bedroom. Nothing was out of place, nothing was burning and certainly no horrendous doppelganger was standing over my bed or in one of the darkened corners.
It was all a dream. I took a deep sigh and crashed back onto the pillow. This had been the seventh night in a row that I’ve had this same dream and within the past month as well. I don’t mind listening to a few creepy things on YouTube before bed and barely work up a whimper, yet this one keeps me up at night and wake up soaking wet everywhere?

The mind works in mysterious ways.

Normally I’d try to get a little more shuteye but today was a big day down at the shop, the company had an announcement to make, as well as yet another large order of product we couldn’t even put out until next week for a big launch come the start of the month. In this case, I really wanted to stay in bed.

However, doing so would mean less money and the landlord’s already on my ass about missing last month’s rent so begrudgingly I crawl my way out of the sheets and towards the bathroom, passing my wall calendar pinned to the wall near the window, exposing the bright morning sun rising over the Hudson River… or was it the East River? I couldn’t tell and I could care less in my current state of mind.

The date was April the thirtieth, two thousand and twenty-one; unknowing to everyone in every aspect of life on this Earth, a date that would change our way of life, humanity and all.

A date in which, somewhere beyond the skylines and sunrise, an island emerged from the fog.

Author's Note

I LIVE!!!