The small town of Westcome was covered in a dense fog, the tips of the three story buildings poking out of the clouds like pointy teeth that grew in a snowman’s mouth. Cars traversed the cobblestone streets at a snails pace, relying on their memory of the road more than what they could see in front of them. More often than usual, you could hear the screeching of tires that had to break too fast as a person or forgotten stop sign came into view.

Sarah Holnut was one of those almost hit pedestrians. Noticing that she was low on flour for her marathon night of baking Christmas cookies, she set out into the dreamscape to visit her local market. She had made it two blocks, when a piercing rubber-on-stone noise flooded her eardrums.

My instincts took control and I jumped backwards to the safety of the sidewalk. My landing was not as elegant as I would have hoped and my left heel clipped the curb, causing me to continue backwards butt first while my feet stayed at the edge of the road.

I landed on my ass with a really awkward “ooowchy”, likely a combo of ouch, oopsy, and air escaping back through my mouth from the force my rear end absorbed. Normally that kind of comedic moment would have earned a laugh from me, but seeing the car bumper come to an abrupt stop inches away from my feet suppressed that reaction.