I’m attending some sort of big festival. There are a lot of attractions, rides, things like that. Rather than do any of that, I enter a movie theater that’s been set up for the event. The schedule informs me that the feature will be a series of short films, each a few minutes in length.
The first movie is a cartoon. It features a man who is completely blue, like a Mr. Men character. He’s sitting in his living room chair, reading a newspaper. Everything is normal, until a thunderstorm suddenly occurs. The man gets up to look out his window to see the storm. Once he does, he recoils in horror, holding his hands up to his face while crying. He then removes his hands, to reveal his flesh melting off, leaving only a skeleton behind.
Movie number two is some sort of newsreel. It’s never explicitly said, but I’ve gathered through the usual dream world osmosis that this is actually supposed to be a secret government recording that was leaked to the public. It shows military planes dropping canisters over a city. The city turns out to be here in America, and is only one of two states away from mine. My best friend lives there, and I start to worry, even though this was recorded decades ago. The film ends here. It doesn’t explain what the canisters are, or why they were being dropped.
The third film is a ten second claymation short. Three clay men scream in agony while melting, leaving only skeletons, just like the man in the first film. I’m starting to put two and two together, realizing that the canisters are doing this.
The last movie is literally a live feed of the news. An alert has gone out: a massive, mysterious blast is about to occur in the same state that the government dropped those canisters. I know that this is their fault.
The blast happens. I can feel the aftershocks all the way here. A series of gauges appear in the corner of the eye, each one telling me that it’s unsafe to go outside. Apparently, the outside is highly irradiated, and this radiation is unable to make its way indoors.
In the time I’ve been watching these movies, a number of buildings have managed to get connected to one another. I go from the theater, which is now within a school, which is now within a grocery store, which is now within an apartment complex. I’m panicking. Like I said earlier, my best friend lives where the blast took place, and I want to know if she’s still okay.
Unfortunately, I don’t have her phone number, and I don’t have internet access. All I can do is go from place to place, through a crowd of people who don’t seem to notice anything is wrong, and are going about their usual business. I’m looking for a tv with a dial, or a computer, or something that I can use to figure out what’s going on, or to try and make contact. I do this for what feels like days. Eventually, I have no choice but to give up; I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough. I make my way through the big maze of buildings to a nearby Target. I buy a bottle of iced coffee, because it’s six in the morning, and I’m getting tired. The manager walks up to me and offers me a job.
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