Training for the new airline took place beside the beach, the sandy edge of the coastline white with pristine grains. The hotel was immaculate, and much to my pleasant surprise, the uniforms were tailor-made and colorful beyond any other airline I had ever seen.
I was proud to work for such a company and had hopes that my career would prosper and last for many years. The fellow crewmembers were friendly and young and we spent afternoons lazing by the blue water, studying in the yellow sun.
Halfway through training, though, new arrivals showed up.
The came bearing old clothes and battered luggage, and nary a hair nor face was ever checked in a mirror. They crowded our hotel, the dirt from their bodies leaving stains on the white furniture. We all loathed them.
They never spoke, or moved for that matter. We had to step over them to prepare for class, carefully avoiding their ugliness, afraid it might rub off and mar the "real" employees.
I could do nothing to jeopardize this job. A day came, though, when one of my friends went off on the ragmuffins, and at that moment all hell broke loose.
It was like a riot, fists flying, the smack of skin on skin echoeing over the roar of their mingled voices. I watched as if I were an outsider, angered that these fools were ruining my chances at a good job, and I refused to join in.
That's when we heard it.
The clink of white china sounded like hundreds of chattering teeth, and I vaguely wondered at this since no china existed at the hotel.
Enormous windows lined each wall and in the confusion of the mob, I caught a terrifying view of the monster outside.
"You did this!" I screamed to the fighting crowd, in a voice far too loud to belong to me.
Suddenly they ceased their fire and followed my horrified gaze. The ocean stood as tall as the Empire State Building in the distance, and I knew that at our inability to get along had angered the peaceful sea gods and they were smiting us for our wicked ways.
Suddenly the hotel melted away and I stood in an enormous plane hangar, the yellow bars of the rafters high enough to be my salvation if only I could reach them.
The rest of the group scattered, knowing there was little time to reach high ground before the waves took them to their cerulean graves. Rocky cliffs graced the landscape behind the training center, and so in their high heels and leather loafers, the newly united enemies held hands and gripped granite as they tried to evade death.
I ran to the nearest handhold, the walls of the hangar like a magic yellow ladder as I caught a glimpse of a rafter so high it seemed to reside in the clouds. I climbed, faster and faster, tears on my face as I watched my weaker comrades fall to their deaths, but there was nothing I could do, so I pushed onward to the yellow bridge.
Heather Locklear was climbing directly above me, and she turned to shout that even if we reached the rafters, it would be days before a rescueing crew could help us climb down again. The water would still be too high, she said, and for a moment I almost let go and fall, tempted by an instant death. But something inside me said not to trust her, so I ignored the warning and climbed higher still.
Then the wave hit.
The walls shook me like a rat in a dog's mouth, and I held on till my fingers dripped blood. I watched my friends disappear into the frothy white water, and it spurred me onward. The rafter was in my reach, but just as I threw my leg over the cold metal bar, another wave slammed into the building and I was catipulted into a muddy crater on the top of a nearby mountain.
Suddenly I was surrounded by hundreds of naked people clustered together, dried mud caked on their bodies like a second skin. I noticed that my clothes were missing, too, but strangely that only made me feel more at ease with these people. They were natives to the crater, and even children ran around the brown landscape. I noticed that tunnels existed in the side of the mountain, and when I asked what they were for, they said it was our only escape back into the world I had just left, that we must work together in order to make it back to our loved ones. They had been here a long time, and it seemed they were waiting for me to begin the journey back to their pasts.
It took us days, but slowly we passed through the tunnels, at times only big enough for one to crawl on hands and knees. Everyone was frightened, but together we encouraged one another in the dark, sure we would make it back to restore our families.
And then - sunlight! We all wept tears of joy as indeed we came through on the other side of the mountain, the ocean that had been my demise only days before now placid and turquoise.
I frantically searched for my family, certain they must be there among the wreckage.
I watched as each of my new friends was reunited with their people, the families dressed in their Sunday best, making the survivors all acutely aware of our nakedness.
I still hadn't found my family when I suddenly spotted my mother standing on a wooden porch, remniscent of the house where she grew up. She had on a white hat and gloves and I wondered why everyone insisted on dressing like it was Easter.
Screaming her name, I flung myself into her arms and wept, asking about the rest of the family. As she said each of their names, my father, followed by each of my siblings appeared beside her.
I hugged them all in turn, realizing that my brothers, Jon and Jamie, were missing.
"Mom, where are the boys??" I asked in a panic.
She leveled a dead gaze on me and said flatly, "I have no idea."
I knew they must be dead.
And then I woke up.
