Chasing the Train Through a Courtroom Subway

Chasing the Train Through a Courtroom Subway

I was standing in the lobby of my office building, but the reception desk was a grocery checkout line. A woman I hadn't seen in years—my high school chemistry teacher—was scanning my badge like a barcode. She looked up, smiled, and said, "You forgot the evidence, didn't you?" I tried to ask what she meant, but the sound of a fire alarm started wailing, and the hallway stretched forever, turning into the subway platform where a train was already pulling away. I ran after it, but every step felt like wading through water. The train doors opened onto a courtroom, and the judge was my neighbor, Mrs. Patel, who was reading a newspaper and didn't notice me. I fumbled for my phone to call for help, but it was missing; instead, I found a set of keys hanging on a coat rack that didn't belong to anyone I knew. I woke up just as the judge was about to speak, heart pounding, wondering why I was supposed to bring something I couldn't find.