Burning

Last night comprised a series of nightmare cameos featuring the well-known spectres of violence, racism and fear.

I'm walking along a sidewalk with a tall and beautiful woman: my guide. She is teaching me to be a better flyer by using my cloak as wings, since my hands alone don't give me much lift. My cloak is too loose around the neck and threatening to fall off, so she gently fastens it in such a way that it resembles the pinning of her own cloak. Then she warns me that we're not welcome in this city, and can't enter certain places. She says, "our kind is the kind that buys the whole chicken." That's when I notice that she's brown-skinned. She turns and walks into a dirty-looking butcher's shop. I hear a hissing behind me, and I turn to see a sharp-faced woman who spits on me and says that I should be ashamed... I race at her and her expression changes from disdainful anger to horrified disbelief... I dig my thumbs into her neck and squeeze as hard as I can...

I'm alone in a wide field with a large black dog, my guardian. I have some ill-defined purpose here, work to do. I see a black bear running several yards away, and start to draw back in fear, but the dog chases the bear away. A little further along I see another bear, this time a grizzly. I remember that there is a little shelter not too far away; perhaps I could make it if I run, but I'm not optimistic. I run... I'm almost at the shelter, which is nothing more than a rickety wooden cabin no bigger than an outhouse. Looking back, I notice that I was mistaken; there's no grizzly, only herds of bison. One of them charges me, and the dog starts to chase it... right toward me! The black dog chases the buffalo around and around me, narrowly missing me each time. Finally it catches me, pins me against a tree with its horns...

I'm in a friendly room full of children, some of the boys slightly bloodied with fighting. They're climbing all over me, which I don't like. A little dark-skinned girl's hair catches on fire, the ends of her braids are burning! I use my hand to smother the flames... the heat bites into my palms. The other children ask, what do I think I'm doing? As soon as I remove my hand, the flame starts up again more viciously. Again I try to smother it... The little girl seems more resigned than anguished, though she must be hurting. I keep trying... Finally a blonde, blue-eyed girl offers some cream which can put out the fire. I wait for her to help, but she changes her mind and instead puts the cream on her own hair, relishing its coolness. The little girl's braids burn...