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I’m flying. Soaring above the clouds. The fields all look circular. Why are the fields circles? They look square from down on the ground. I dive through a flock of birds headed to Costa Rica to wait out the winter, narrowly missing a direct hit with one. Flying dreams are a common occurrence for me, as well as lucid ones, but never have I had both at the same time. This is great.

I can see cars now, they’re like little toys. People too–they look just like the tiny bugs that hover around porch lights from dusk until dawn, little specks of things that I’ve never bothered to learn the name of. I look to my right and I see a city with giant arches jutting out from it. It’s funny that I would dream of St. Louis, as I’ve never been there.

Except…except the thought of St. Louis makes me remember something about having to go there for a meeting, getting on a Boeing 747, and looking out over the late-summer landscapes when a man started yelling. There was a giant BOOM, followed instantly with fire and then a sudden lightness. I realize I’m strapped to an airplane seat, and then I start screaming, while the little people get bigger and bigger.

This story was originally published by me on Reddit, under my user name Deusmachina.   If you’re a Redditor hit me up!

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