Streets teem with violence as protesters clash with police. The country is in full revolt against the government and our cluster has worked out an efficient force of disobedience. Large, full-back-sized men rush the police line as scrawny men pull up pavement stones with small metal pry bars.
I crouch down close to the street, pulling up stones with my tool. I quickly hand the stones to the large men who hurl them at the police. The hurlers seem invincible to the concussion grenades, tear gass, and rubber bullets. All the pullers jump around, dodging the police ordnance, and keep pulling up ammo for the hurlers. I feel exhausted but am using the adrenaline to keep fighting.
As huge waves crash down on me and my family, I dive deep to avoid the turbulence. I come up for air and notice a huge expanse of water. And another wave approaching. “Where’s my family?” I think as I take a breath and dive deep again to avoid the chaos.
A friend paints a tall graff mural a few stories up a college dorm wall. I hang out on the roof with a few others as he puts on the finishing touches. The piece looks amazing and is a leap of style for my friend.
I have an old recurring dream and wake up thinking that I should write it down. I don’t and realize that I’ve never written it down.