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Rob Vincent

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November 3rd, 2009

mist [Nov. 3rd, 2009|02:59 am]
Rob Vincent
I just woke from a dream in which I was called in for jury duty, but it was way in upstate New York. So I waited for a train which would take me there, on a normal crowded rush-hour Long Island Rail Road train platform. A train with only two cars showed up, but stopped past the edge of the platform and waited there.

Apparently a handful of people were also jurors going to the same place I was, and after enough of our shouting at it the train backtracked enough for us to get on. When I got inside things were much different from the normal commuter trains; instead of seats there were large naugahyde sofas. I found an unoccupied one and sat down, flipping open the paperback novel I was reading; The Mist by Stephen King.

The train ride was much longer than my normal ones, so I casually chatted with the people in the neighboring seats occasionally, but mostly I read my book. As I read it, I noticed it became progressively foggier outside, in line with the events in the book. I knew that we were heading for pretty much the same scenario when we got to our courthouse, but the others in the train seemed oblivious, assuming the fog was how things normally were upstate.

At some point we were suddenly on a bus instead of the train, and we were pulling in front of a huge glass-and-steel skyscraper which was somehow our courthouse. We disembarked, and from the outside the bus was suddenly a normal car. I leaned over to the driver's window said goodbye to the bus driver, who in real life is one of the drivers of a bus line right by my house and who I'm pretty friendly with, and told her to be really careful driving home. As she left, the narrative voice in my mind told me she wouldn't make it back.

The group of jurors seemed to be nervously following me now as they became more freaked out by events; we could barely see the building five feet away. We eventually found the entrance, and went in to a spacious but empty lobby. The only sign of life was a security desk; seated there was the security guard who in real life I see at the radio station I work at once a week. In the dream we didn't know each other, and I approached him to let him know we were the jurors and asked where to go.

He informed us that we were all early and the courts weren't open yet, but we were welcome to get something to eat in the meantime; he took us to a corner of the lobby in which were some old glass-doored refrigerators such as ones you might have found in convenience stores. Inside them were really old-looking burgers, sandwiches, and slices of pizza piled on top of each other with no wrappers or anything. They did not look appetizing, but there was an arcade grabber-claw crane machine in the corner with some bottles of orange juice in it. I took careful note of this as we were headed for the horror from the story, and this would be all we'd have to eat during it. Everyone else was uneasily wandering around the lobby as I looked uneasily through the glass windows of the building all around us, outside of which was entirely white.

Then I woke up.
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