1. The Biggest Nightmare
It was a preposterously hot summer’s diurnal. Everything around me was slowly starting to
melt: the trees, the houses, the sky and the pathway to my garage. It seemed that I was about to
melt down myself, so there would only be a small puddle of glue-like substance left on the
ground. I was walking very slowly. My head felt capacious and heavy, and every muscle in my
body was sore. Sweat inundated my being from head to toe. My arms and legs were barely
responding to the signals that my brain was sending to them. I could manage no typical
conversation, let alone any type of perspicuity. It felt like a slow-motion horror movie, only it
was happening live. I finally reached the front door and touched the handle. The path that took
only a second for my eyes to see, took about twenty minutes for my body to accomplish. But, I
was finally at my goal.
I slowly turned the handle of the door, only to realize it had barely moved. I took all the strength
that I had left in my body and pressed the handle again. No success. I turned around, leaned
against the door, and slowly slid down prostrate to the ground. I felt faint. My head was
spinning. I was so thirsty that I could barely think about anything else. I had to get inside; had to
pull myself together and open the door to mitigate this dehydration. Otherwise, I would faint
here, near the front entrance to my own house, which was not the scenario I’d prefer. I pulled
myself from the ground and faced the door again. I closed my eyes for a second, took a deep
breath, opened them, and pushed the door knob as hard as I could, at the time. It gave way
grudgingly. If it wasn’t for my phlegmatic elderly neighbors within earshot at that moment, I
would definitely have screamed in happiness for finally winning, over this arduous door knob.
But in order preserve the amity, all I could settle for right then was a weak smile, and a deep
sigh of relief.
I went inside, and had to wait for a minute before I could make out anything. It was too dark, still
very hot and, somehow, very lonely inside. By the time my eyes adapted to the darkness inside, I
could tell no one was around. What time was it? And where was everyone? The house was
completely and dangerously quiet as if all other forms of life had been extricated of the planet;
this left me in extreme trepidation. The silence was unnatural. There was no sound coming from
the working fridge, or ticking clock; nothing. I went to the kitchen to get some water, opened the
tap and put an empty glass under it. But there was no water, not even a drop! The glass remained
empty. This seemed like a complete nightmare. I must be dreaming! I felt like the world had died
out, everything had stopped and, somehow, I was forgotten here all alone, left to die from thirst
and heat.
I was having a panic attack. With the anger and strength that came out of nowhere, I ran from
one room to another, looking for anyone. Mom, Mira, dad, Dionne – no one was to be seen. The
dogs were gone too. What is wrong with the place? Again, for the third or fourth time, I caught
myself thinking this was just a bad dream. But, my body still felt very much sore, and I could
vividly feel the pain. Having no clue of what else, except the pain, could help me distinguish
between this gestalt of dreaming and reality, I had to accept the fact that I was living this
nightmare for real. Suddenly, I heard a sound coming from downstairs. It was a very slight, faint
sound that repeated in a second, only louder. I ran downstairs, feeling a little scared, and, at the

2. same time, hoping that it was someone, or something, that could explain to me what was going
on.
The living room was empty. The sound was coming from outside the back porch, and it was
increasing in loudness with every new cycle. I ran outside the back door, and was almost brought
down to the ground by the strength of the wind. It was a helicopter, right above me, coming onto
me. I lay on the ground, screaming, but I couldn’t hear my own voice through the noise of the
implacable vanes getting closer, and freezing me to the ground…
… “Morgan, honey, wake up! It’s just a dream, baby. You look so pale. Are you okay?” My
voluble mother was standing next to my bed, trying to allay my episode, as I was still screaming
and my arms were still palpitating. The air was on, and the fan above my bed was making that
particular propitious whistling sound with each turn.