George had already forgotten his prophecy. He'd also forgotten where he was. It was the Alzheimers, of course. All that he knew right now was that there were bombs falling, and people were screaming and crying all around him.
Why am I here? he wondered.
A woman cradling her baby rushed past him, tears streaming down her face. George was clutching something in his hands. A hat. Blue, with a flat top. It tickled so many thoughts and memories in his mind...
He glanced around. A train station. He was at a train station. He didn't know which one, or how he got there, but yes - he was standing next to his train.
Get it out of here, he thought, stumbling into the head car, wincing at the sound of another squealing plane releasing a bomb over the city. The train was packed of refugees - Get them out of here.