That night, I have a dream. I'm running through a golden field of poppies reflecting in the sun. The field is a engulfed in a flame of yellow and orange diamonds. I'm alone, but I feel there is someone there with me. Where they are, I have no idea. I swivel myself around in a circle, making myself dizzy and confused. Is this the best way to find a person? Dizzy and confused? They can't be seen so I spin my own vision, thinking a blurred vision would be better to find a hiding person. The logic is upside down, but so am I because I notice the sky is no longer its natural blue, but rose red and shimmering like light on the waves of the ocean.
I'm on my back, staring at the ****** sky. Underneath me, the golden poppies have been squished by my weight. The sun has gone away too. It's gone behind a cloud, a mountain, I don't know. It's gone. I am no longer thinking of the person in hiding, but of where I am at all. My ego steps in, yet I feel no worry. I'm not bothered or scared. Indifference with a side of curiosity washes over me like a cold, hard rain. I know I am dreaming. The tingling and the blurriness give it away.  When I discover this, I lift myself up somehow from the broken stemmed poppies and walk forward to the end of the field.
My bare foot touches the damp dirt. This is the first time I notice that I am not wearing any shoes. I can't tell if I am wearing any clothes. The colors are all bleeding into one, but I feel the moist dirt underneath my feet and my toes. I wiggle them and press them into the ground. They dip in, like a toe into a pool of water. The water is a paradox of temperature. There is a noise behind me with no sound. A vibration of sorts. I look over my shoulder and see the ember field of poppies, swaying back and forth in a silent wind. The sun has returned and its rays rain down on me. I close my eyes and feel the warmth, knowing I feel this because of a memory of actual life. What if a memories only purpose is to fuel dreams? What if true living is only in dreams and reality - home, work, home - is only meant for dreams? Wouldn't that be something.
I walk through the wet field of dirt and mud and come to a river. There is a dock and I walk on it to the end and discover a rope. It looks to have once been tied to something. The hard wood under my feet feels strong and sturdy. I am not afraid to fall in the water, but if I was to, I knew I could swim. I go to my knees and examine the rope. It is water logged and the twine is damaged. It's nearly come undone. The only thing it has going for it is that it is very long. At least ten feet in length. It looks to be used for tying boats to the dock. I look up and see it, the boat, sitting in the middle of the still river. There are two people inside. They are shadows until the sun shifts and I see that it is Claire and Hane.
I stand. I put my hand up and wave, but they don't see me. I shout at them, waving my hands wildly, but they do not hear me. I stamp my foot on the dock, rocking it back and forth, trying to see if the vibration will reach the boat they are sitting in, but they do not feel it. I'm invisible to them. I sit down on the edge of the dock with my legs hanging over the sides and look at my reflection in the water. There's nothing there. I look up and see they are staring not at me, but over me. They are at the sun. It's setting. I look at their faces and they are smiling warmed smiles and I struggle to make sense that they cannot see me. I look over my shoulder, wishing to feel the same, but as I do so, I feel my grip slip on the edge of the dock and my legs go forward. My back slaps against the glassy surface  of the water. I plunge in and sink until I hit the bottom. The sand bursts from both sides of me. It gets in my eyes. I can't see. I can't breathe. I wake up.