What do you dream?
As I child, I dreamed dark tales of the end of the world, of standing on a tall building watching the bombs fall down. Friends asked why. Wouldn't hiding away give a better chance of escape? But in my dreams there would be no escape. One of the Big Three--America Russia and China--would eventually push the button and the end would come. I dreamed tragic lovers torn apart by war. I dreamed the last surviving child, maimed and crying. I dreamed... and I wrote down my tales. The English teacher asked why. It's easy to make people cry, she said. Why not stretch myself and make them smile instead? But I did have other dreams and other tales to tell. I wrote stories of heroes (women and teens of course) fighting evil, saving from disaster, and changing the course of history. I liked those dreams. And sometimes I heard the monsters go bump in the night. I still hear them on occasion. Every once in a while they call my name, or a small girl (my children are all sons) cries out to...
