In the midst of the pink clowds above, two cowboys appeared. One came down from his horse and cocked his gun and the other came towards me in great force. I couldn't scream, I couldn't run as the cowboy's hand reached out and grabbed me, only catching sight of his brown leather glove.

They took me to another place and dropped me in the river, leaving me wet and cold, stranded on the rocks to shiver. Alongside me a dead woman lay facedown. Her green dress torn from bottom up, black hair scattered amongst the water, her skin was blue and gray. Presumably she had drown as the waves carried her away.

Looking ahead, the Native Americans walked the trail. The tribe followed behind their cloaked chief as he sang and pounded the drum. Their voices sang with hope but their faces were so glum. I watched as they trotted and slipped on the remaining snow. They were in a rush. To where? I do not know.

To the left of me the dead woman stood. She was a corpse! Her face rotten and filled with rage, her fist clenched and ready to charge like a bull released from a cage. Her eyes were black, teeth yellow,  her hair was wet and stuck to her jaw. She raised her hand and struck me, that was the last I ever saw.