F is for Fire Station

I don’t know what is happening. First the strange visions while I was driving by the fire station. And then, last night, that same vision invaded my dreams. I was standing in front of the station, watching it burn. Except, it wasn’t really the fire station. The building looked the same, but everything about it was different. The landscape wasn’t dotted with cars and houses, silos and farms, for one thing. Instead, there were sheep – a lot of sheep – and, well, nothing else. No roads, no cars, no electrical wires…nothing.

If I didn’t recognize the building, I would have thought it was just a crazy dream. But there was something about the fire station that afternoon that felt different. And the dream didn’t just feel like a dream. Instead, it felt like a memory. A memory of a night that was dark and scary and changed the world.

I woke up drenched in sweat, crying and feeling warm, like I had just stood in front of that fire for hours, watching the place I loved disappear.

But it was just the old fire station. Wasn’t it?


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