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In my dream, I was at a friends house from high school. While at his house I took a glass from his cupboard and poured a cold drink in it. I didn't actually see the glass break, but then ended up feeling a sharp pain from my goot. Then I looked down to see the glass inside of my barefoot. I then asked for tweezers and started pulling out the shards of glass which were bloody coming out of my foot. One of them that I pulled out was over an inch long. I placed each shard on the counter top

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I was going to school in my cousin's car as usual, when I came in there were strangers in the car including my cousins. I asked "why are you guys here anyways". A man answered my question "it's an activity from your school". I looked around and saw children there too. I said "ok". I kept talking and didn't notice the strangers were getting annoyed. We got to school and when I was about to get my bag at the trunk it shut close. I ran after the car yelling " my bag, I didn't get to get it!". The car kept going but the door opened. The men were there saying "let's just kidnap her". I got in the car and they held me there,captive. That's when I noticed and thought to myself "this is my old dream, I was drowned in this dream". Instead of waking myself up I tried to finish my dream and not get drowned this time. I remembered when a group of teachers would pass by and they did, in my old dream I didn't do anything but now I was slamming my fist at the windows trying to tell them what was happening. First they recognized me as a student in the school and waved hi but then they realized what was actually happening. Their normal teeth turned into fangs, I knew they were gonna help me but still I was frightened. They came closer and I got a perfect view of the mouth filled with razor sharp teeth and thats when I woke up, my body felt normal, I didn't feel scared just my normal me as usual.

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I was traveling through the Middle East, a rare sight of a woman alone with her children. Everywhere we went, small children with large, dark, haunted eyes would watch my son and daughter as they laughed easily, teased each other and tried to talk to one another in Arabic from a small red phrasebook. One day we sat on a hot, dusty, crowded train. As the vista flashed by outside the window, a young boy, close to the same age as my son, sat across from us with his father. He watched quietly, seriously, as my children giggled, poked at one another and pointed out goats, mountains and beautiful rolling dunes awash in browns, soft pinks and ochers. My daughter turned to the boy and spoke a short phrase to him - "Hello; how are you?" - and suddenly he smiled, huge brown eyes lighting up and his face transformed into that of a beautiful and carefree young man. He began to answer when his father, eyes flashing, gave him a sharp reprimand in the universal language that every parent understands, the tone conveying words I understood in a language I could not. The boy cast his eyes downward. I looked at the man and attempted his language. "I'm sorry and it is not my business yet...why is it not alright for our children to speak with one another?" He looked at me and, with a small sigh, said "Our children are not the same." I said, "We are not wealthy people; you have no reason to dislike us." He barked a short laugh and said, "You, wealthy? You have riches. We -" he pointed at his breast, "we have wealth. We have the wealth that comes from true knowledge of our Creator, of our thousands of years of history, of our struggles. Of our losses. Of our families, of our heritage, of our culture. Your children have riches. Riches of the promise of a future. My son has wealth. But the promise of a future...?" He raised his arms heavenward in a fatalistic gesture and slowly turned his head to look out the window of the train. His proud face looked resigned yet strangely at peace. I woke up with tears running down my face.

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