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Dreamed 1993/12/14 by Chris Wayan

Walk into my parents' house to find puddles all over. At first, I'm angry, hunt for whoever made the mess to tell them "mop it up!" But the soaking garden and the salt water lapping in the canyon below the house, hundreds of feet higher than it should be, slowly force me to conclude: global warming's gotten so bad that at high tide, the water rose all the way up the hill to the house and flooded it.

No one to blame but the jerks who buy gas-hog cars. And they never mop up their messes.

I go into my old bedroom to find another mess. The mirror's shattered! Seven years bad luck, eh? Glass shards all over the floor... and my sister Althea's just sitting there with a toddler! The mirror's far above the baby's reach, so Althea must have done it. But why? At least it's clearly her responsibility to clean up! I'm perversely pleased to have someone to blame for SOMETHING.

But Althea mutely points to a pitted stone on the floor. Less than an inch wide, no more than a fat bullet, but still smoking hot. There's a hole in the roof. A meteor.

My neck starts prickling. The universe itself has smashed my mirror! Like a death threat from God.

I always thought "No one is out to get you" was a reassuring phrase... but no longer.

After all, who's deadlier than No One?


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