concrete elevator2003-10-11 00:21:00 -0700 personal
I stand alone in an elevator, descending. All at once the elevator lurches and starts dropping precipitously. A terrible roar erupts as concrete rips violently against steel; the metal and wood-panelled sides of the elevator ripple, rend, and then scrape off leaving me in a concrete box, still descending, now amidst rushing whispers of silence. Then the walls begin to move in. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Surrounded in concrete, still falling, walls steadily closing in—abruptly I recognize my imminent death. Fear evaporates. Instead, an exasperated frustration recedes into irritation and then gives way to indescribable disappointment. Moments before the encroaching concrete crushes me, I open my eyes. I lay in bed, heart pounding, sweating profusely. In that instant I know I had been dreaming. In the next instant, I close my eyes again—a blink in reverse—reenter the dream. And die.
I sleep soundly for the rest of the night.