strange morning

A man, Bob Johnson, leans on a cold, concrete pillar, silently waiting for the train to take him to work. He waits the same way that he has waited for the past seven extra long agonizing years. He glances calmly at his wristwatch; thirty-seven minutes past eight o’ clock in the morning. “Damn,” he thinks to himself. “Oh well, they’ll have to let me off,” he mumbles to himself, “it’s the first time …

…at him with its headlights on full beam, he hears the screeching of breaks, almost like metal on metal. As the car hits him, the headlights completely engulf him and he feels a moment of disillusionment, and a feeling of flying like he is no longer in his body. Bob Johnson’s body lay twitching on the subway tracks as the train came to a screeching halt. It was a dream. He had been decapitated.