Anna

I stumble through the empty streets, the dark blue night sky a vast backdrop for numerous spots of angry orange-red flames. The distant fires paint a startling contrast against the calm melancholy of a silver moon that perches above me as I half-walk, half-jog closer and closer to the fires. I can feel the heat pound in the night air, a strange combination of warmth mixed in with a cool evening breeze on this autumn night that makes the skin on my face tingle and prickle. Every now and then, other people run to and fro, helping one another empty houses, carrying the sum of their lives in their arms. The one thing that strikes me most is the absolute silence in the air, a quiet that has settled in around me so peacefully if I close my eyes and forget the increasing heat I can almost imagine myself in a different world altogether.

And that’s when I first see her. She is quickly walking back the way I had come, a soft white quilted blanket draped around her from head to toe, wisps of long, black disheveled hair framing a strangely familiar face. Her house is not too far from mine, but closer to the encroaching flames. We walk together, simply and directly, and she learns that I love to cook, though not for a living. I discover she loves to dance but has never gone swing dancing. She says that she has come from the East to start a new life for herself, and with soot smudging her right cheek, she looks up at me and smiles.

Her name is Anna.

Then I wake up.