I was working on a number of projects for school and was behind in most of my work. One of the projects was a report on a book which I hadn't yet read. Finally I picked up the book and began reading it. The book was rather small and had a blue hard cover. I read for quite a long time and became quite absorbed. It was a novel written in Spanish. But once I came across a sentence in English which began "You will ...." As I read the words, I didn't understand them, until I realized I was reading the English dialogue of an English-speaking person. As I re-read the sentence, I realized how strange it had been pronouncing the English words in my mind with a Spanish pronunciation. When I came across and read a second English sentence, same thing occurred.

The story became quite interesting and my visualization of the scenes was so strong, it actually seemed as if I were present at the action and watching it take place. One scene took place in the interior of a castle being attacked from the outside. The scene was of a large, somber, interior room of the castle where many men were gathered. It appeared that perhaps a trial of some sort had taken place. The person who had been on trial was a boy (perhaps 10 years old) who appeared to have muscular dystrophy and who very much reminded me of my brother Chris.

The leader (probably a king) of the men in the castle had made a severe ruling of some sort against the boy. But dissension arose among the other men, and many apparently didn't want the boy to be harshly punished. Most of the men in the room appeared to be monks and were wearing long white robes. The monks wielded a great deal of power in the castle. Suddenly, in protest to the king's action, a small group of about five monks began making a steady sound with their mouths which sounded like, "Hmmm. Hmmm. Hmmm. Hmmm ...." They continued the sound until a much larger group of monks, perhaps all the monks gathered here, joined in. The sound quickly became very loud.

The king didn't wait long before he retracted his ruling. He realized it was dangerous to have dissension inside the castle at this time, especially with the attackers outside perhaps being able to hear the monks.

The boy was picked up by someone and taken to a neighboring room to a cell where he would be kept. But the matter of central importance was that he would now be able to read or would be able to have someone read to him.

I was about a third of the way through the small book and was surprised I had read it so quickly. It appeared I would indeed be able to finish it in time for my book report. But I grew tired of reading and stopped at the bottom of a left page. I saw on the right page that there were still a few more lines until the end of that section. But since I didn't want to read any more, I marked my spot and closed the book.

My sister was in the room and she was also working on some kind of project for school. She also had to write a report which was due this very day. She was sitting on the floor and had books and papers scattered all around her. But it appeared obvious to me that she wasn't going to be able to finish in time.

I talked to her about it and it appeared that I had been supposed to help her. But I hadn't, and I felt somewhat guilty about it. To express my remorse I took off my wrist watch and hit it with something. The glass flew off the front and the black hands came off. I was immediately upset by what I had done and I wasn't even certain why I had done it.

I walked into the kitchen, which seemed like the kitchen of the Gay Street House, and there found my mother. I began trying to put the hands back on the watch. Both the hour and the minute hand seemed connected to the same stem and had a black circle at the end which was supposed to go around the center of the watch. But I couldn't seem to make it fit.

My mother began telling me that she had received some kind of report from someone about my brother-in-law James which indicated James wasn't a very savory character. Unsurprised, I thought the report probably involved the fact that James had smoked marijuana every day for probably 10 years.

My mother wanted to tell me something about the report and I told her to go ahead. She said she had been told that James had been working for my father in my father's insulation factory for years, and had only been paid $3.50 an hour. The import of the story was that something must be wrong with someone who would work for such low wages for so long.

I thought the story was probably true. But I also thought about the fact that my father had only been paying $3.50 an hour. I felt that if my father had paid his employees more, and if he had been more concerned about their welfare, both he and they would have prospered more. Even if my father had needed to pay out a few thousand more dollars, he would have probably been able to have recouped the money by insulation jobs generated by the employees. If I were running a business like that, I would definitely be more concerned about the welfare of my employees.

I began to realize I needed to leave and go to school. Since my watch was broken, I didn't know what time it was; but I was afraid I was already late. I thought I needed to be at school by 8:30.

I took my things with me and boarded a large white car, which I began driving. It seemed as if I was going north on Scioto Trail in Portsmouth. I stopped at a red light, moved the gear shift a little while I was sitting there, and when the light turned, stepped on the gas. But it took me several seconds to realize I was going backwards. I looked in the rear view mirror and saw that the line of cars behind me was also moving backwards, as the drivers desperately tried to get out of my way. I was moving so fast I couldn't seem to stop the car. Finally however I did manage to back into a lot and turn around.

I looked out on the street and hoped I could pull back out into traffic without being seen by anyone into whom I had almost wrecked. Finally I did pull out and almost immediately I saw a white police car in the lane next to me. But the policeman didn't seem concerned about me and I was able to continue to the school.

As I drove I began to think I didn't really need a car. If I lived in the city I could get around just fine without one.

When I reached the school I entered through a side door. My hands and arms were full of papers, books and files which I was using for my project. I walked inside and began walking through the halls. But I was surprised to find that the place seemed deserted. I ascended to an upper story and began walking in the halls, but I couldn't seem to remember exactly where my room was.

In the hall I encountered a black man (around 40 years old) lying on what appeared to be a mattress on the floor with a cover over him. The man had his eyes closed. He also had no hands, just stumps at the end of his arms.

Another black fellow was standing near the man, and was talking to someone else. The black fellow said he had killed the man on the floor, who had been a plane hijacker. The fellow said he had originally cut off the man's hands, but the man had still managed to hijack ten planes even after his hands had been cut off. So finally the fellow had killed the man.

The fellow and the person he was talking to finally walked away, but I continued standing there looking at the man lying on the floor. Finally a woman who apparently worked in the school walked up. She wanted to know what the man was doing lying here in the middle of the floor and she began telling him to get up. I started to walk away and as I did so I said, "He's dead."

When I looked back, I saw the man lying on the floor had opened his eyes. The black fellow had been lying when he had said he had killed the man! And I had believed him!

I met someone else in the hall, told the person my name and asked if he could tell me where my room was. The person pointed to a nearby room and I headed toward it. More people were beginning to show up in the halls.

I walked into the room and saw perhaps 15 students here. I didn't recognize any of them and thought I was in the wrong room. Or maybe it was the wrong time. I was beginning to think it might be much later than I had thought. But I noticed all the clocks in the school seemed broken and were even going backwards.

I knew I was in the twelfth grade and thought the classroom I had entered was a twelfth grade classroom, but as soon as I stepped in the door I said, "This can't be it."

The other students looked at me as if I were an alien. No teacher was in the room. Since I didn't feel timid, I walked over to a pretty girl and asked her about the room. She didn't seem to know what I was talking about. Finally I asked her what time it was. She seemed to think it was incredible that I didn't know what time it was.

Finally I concluded it was around eleven or eleven thirty and that indeed I was late. I walked out of the room into the hall again. I saw a black-haired girl whom I thought I knew from somewhere. Perhaps she could help me. But I couldn't remember who she was and I didn't approach her.

Actually I was feeling extremely tired. I could hardly concentrate on what I was doing. I thought I needed to find the principal's office and get some kind of tardy slip. As an excuse I would simply have to say I had overslept.

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