Running. Faster. Quicker. Or death. The yelling of the behind me grow louder.
"Kill him! The son of a trader! The one who took our homes!"
This is a dream. It can't be real. It won't be real.
I trip. It is all over. The men will come and they will kill me. They will hang my body on a post warning that bastard of a father to give them what they want.
A home…
Family…
Things I never had…
The ghost of my mother appears.
"Mom?... Mom! Help!"
"Aaron? What's wrong?"
"Aaron! Aaron, wake up!"
Aaron comes to reality.