It was a regular day out and my parents and I were out for a drive—I was the one behind the wheel. The feel of the accelerator and brake pedals were different against my foot, the same feeling I would get whenever the seat was adjusted too far from where it was supposed to be. My eyes were glued to the road, but I could sense Papa sitting beside me as he told me where to go. Even then, as I was driving on the freeway, he was still the Boss of the Road, but I didn’t mind. Papa would always be Boss to me.
He told me to exit on the next one we see, so I did. Mama complimented how smooth my driving was. I smiled and told her how technology was amazing. I had a computer clone of myself on the road, running down the streets while I drove the car. The clone was like a GPS system, and the GPS “I” looked around for traffic accidents and red lights, things that would stop us from getting to our destination quicker, and would alert me of them through the little screen in the car, so we end up avoiding anything big on the streets. I knew that Mama was scared of the new technology. Another “me” was there outside, alone. Anything could happen—the new “me” was virtually attached to the real me: anything it felt would in turn be felt by me; anything that happened to it would happen to me. But I didn’t really care—I liked technological advancements.
I watched on the little screen as “I” ran outside. “I” turned on a corner, and so in the car, I signaled right and turned. Papa told me I was headed the wrong way from where we were supposed to go, so I retorted that he should drive instead if he had complaints about my driving. Papa told me to pull over, so I parked the car by the street curb. We were about to change seats when something unexpected happened.
“I” ran into a huddle of people when all of a sudden, a large man–no, a giant of a man thrice the height of any man I had ever seen—grabbed “me” and pierced an incredibly long sword straight through my chest. I gasped at the sight before me. A few moments later I felt my shirt getting wetter and wetter; I knew without looking that I was slowly soaking in my own blood.
Papa looked at me and told me to quickly scoot over to the passenger seat as he released his seatbelt and quickly got out of the car. I could hear Mama’s cries in the backseat as I struggled to switch seats. It felt like an hour or two passed before I was able to go to the other seat.
I saw Papa outside, running straight to the commotion on the street. There were no more than three men on a killing spree, and I saw “myself” skewered on the long sword. I knew the hundreds of dollars I spent on it were long gone—but that wasn’t the least of my concerns then. Papa was outside and he was completely vulnerable.
I knew what Papa was trying to do. “I” was still there on the street; my “body” was still there. Papa wanted to retrieve “me.” In my mind I wanted him strapped back to his seat and we would drive away as fast as we could. I wanted to shout for him to return, but I knew that screaming for my father to come back would only put much attention to him, so I shut my mouth as I fought for every breath. I didn’t know getting hurt felt this bad.
I heard the car door open. Papa was holding “me” and brought “me” to my lap. I was surprised at how light “I” felt, given that my real body was too heavy for my liking. I looked at the scene before us—they were still killing people who were on the streets by chance. Papa went to the driver’s side as quickly as he could. He locked the doors and was about to start the engine when I noticed the giant man looking straight at us. I knew the three of us were looking back at him.
He was quick on his feet, but every step he took felt like a minute, as if he were enjoying the thrill of seeing new prey. I hugged my “body” closer as my ragged breathing turned into scared panting. I was scared, scared out of my wits, too scared to say anything, too scared to even jump out of the seat and run for my life.
Just when Papa found the strength to start the engine, the giant went to the front of our car and ripped out the engine as easily as if it were mere bread. My eyes were glued to his expression: his lips were smiling, yet his eyes were devoid of any emotion known to man. He was going to kill us—all three of us—and I knew we had no chance of surviving.
I only heard one thing then. “Run,” Papa said as the giant went straight for the person on the driver’s seat. I could only watch as he grabbed Papa’s head and—
Then I woke up crying.
It really happened…in my dream. *winkwink* It was an awful dream, mind you. I don’t think I did the dream justice with this little story, because it was really vivid and horrible and just plain scary. Anyway, I wrote this two years ago for a writing class, and my professor said the title was misleading. But it did happen! Just…not in real life, heh.