“Where am I? How am I? When am I?” Dusty looked around a world that felt familiar, but was distinctly different. His mind tried to shut down and proclaim this a dream, but the pain from the burning sun insisted it was real. A quick scan uncovered a shaded area. The instant relief from escaping the piercing rays was short lived and replaced by the pain of small blisters forming on every area of exposed skin. Dusty laid down on the bench in the dugout he’d discovered and fell asleep. The sudden screaming pushed him off the bench and into a state of terror. His inner voice kept repeating, “You can’t do this. You can’t do this.” If Dusty was being honest with himself, he didn’t want to do this, but the real truth was that he didn’t even know yet what he was meant to be doing. The sporadic but reoccurring screams wrapped around Dusty’s legs making them heavy as stone. Even if he had found a way to move, the world was a never ending room with no light. Dusty had decided this was good because he probably couldn’t be seen by whatever was causing the terror. Then his stomach reminded him he was human and the blisters refreshed his memory of the pain that comes with the sun. While Dusty was searching for strength he‘s never had so he could take a step, the field lights suddenly came to life. Dusty couldn’t see while his eyes tried to adjust. As the world came into focus, he saw the vehicles charging for the pitchers mound. There was nowhere to hide so Dusty stepped out onto the field and waited. The cars and trucks come closer and closer and closer. The lead vehicle - a truck with blinding lights of its own and fire pulsating out of pipes pointed to the sky on each side - was only 30 feet away from Dusty when it happened. A bullet flew through air and then through his head. The blisters busted as the weight of his lifeless body landed on his arm.