By Dan Worth
Copyright 2010 Dan Worth
Over and over he had the same dream. He dreamt that he was falling from the sky - plunging like a meteor to the ground far below. The wind screamed in his ears as he fell and that scream was mixed with other sounds, human sounds, urgent voices and shouts of terror. The green land below him was heavily forested and threaded with the bright ribbons of rivers and the silvered patches of lakes. Wispy cloud moved across it as it rushed closer.
The dream always ended the same way: with a gut wrenching jolt as he was yanked fiercely backwards by unseen hands, then moments later a crashing impact that threw him forwards, and then another and another until the dream ended in pain and darkness and no other sounds save those of his own breathing and the beating of the blood in his ears.
He woke. His vision was unfocused. A patch of dappled green moved unsteadily in front of him at the end of a dark tunnel clogged with angular shapes. He mumbled something, reached to touch the pain in his face and winced.