Your Time has Come

I was having a weird dream, unlike any other that I had ever
had before. Normally my dreams mimik my real life. I dream
about my grandchildren and playing golf. I also dream about
getting old. That's not a good dream, believe you me.

But, this dream was different. I saw a military tank coming
over a hill. Smoke rose into the air behind the tank. The
grass in front of the tank was a nice bright green, but the
grass behind the tank was a lack luster gray. As I focused
some more, I realized that it wasn't just the grass being
affected by the color change. Every color behind the tank
was on the grayscale.

As the tank drew closer, the main gun began to swivel toward
a farm house at the bottom of the hill. Before long, the gun
fired, and I couldn't see anything, for smoke was
everywhere. I could still hear the tank, though. In fact,
the sound grew louder.

Out of nowhere, the tank came out of the smoke cloud. It had
traveled a long distance in a short period of time. The
details of the tank were in clear focus. On the side of the
tank was a painting of the Canadian flag.

At this I opened my eyes. I was in my living room, reclining
in my favorite chair. The TV on the other side of the room
was on. Some sort of news channel was playing. The
newsanchor was saying, "Mr. Fields, your time has come."

As soon as the newsanchor had said that, there was a knock
on the door. I rubbed my forehead. All of this was really
strange. My last name is Fields, but the Mr. Fields
mentioned on the news must have been someone else. And,
whoever is at the door, they have perfect timing, for no one
can ever wake me up when I am sleeping. I sleep like a rock
at the bottom of the ocean.

I opened the door. On my porch were two men wearing black
suits. Their ties were black. Even their shirts were black.
In fact everything about them was black. Their skin was the
blackest I have ever seen. They must be from Nigeria or
something. They didn't wear glasses, which was surprising.
So, the white of their eyes was the only white or even
lighter color on them.

"Can I help you?"

"Mr. Fields?" The man on my right asked.

"Yes, can I help you?"

"Mr. Fields, your time has come," the other man said.

I blinked a couple of times and looked over at the TV.
Wasn't that what the newsanchor just said? I looked back at
the two men on my porch. "Time for what?"

"Please come with us," the first man said with a straight
face. Then, he smiled. "Now!"

Without giving me time to respond, the two men grabbed me,
each man grabbing a different arm. They quickly escorted me
to a black Cadillac parked at the curb.

Once we were inside, I was breathing hard. I hadn't moved
that fast in a long time. My 83 years were evident. After I
caught my breath a little, I glared at them. "What is all of
this about?"

The reply came from the man sitting right next to me in the
back seat. "You're here for one talent and one talent alone.
You're the dreamer. Our very own sleeping Nostradamus."

I was speechless. I didn't know what to say. The other man
was in the driver's seat. When he began talking, I looked at
him in the rear view mirror. "We're at a rocky time in our
history. Only you and your kind can save us from a possible
doomsday."

Then, without another word, he brought the car away from the
curb. A gray cloud appeared in front of the car in the
middle of the street. The car drove right into the cloud,
and then, we were no longer on my street in my little mid-
west town.

Little did I know at the time, though, that I wasn't the
only one to be snatched from their home.

The End

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