it was something like a food court, and everything felt tense; edgy; like the shooting crack before an avalanche. i notice three young men--orange shirts, red, yellow, with checkered bandanas covering all except their eyes. i pull my friend away, worried about a fight, about what these men might do.

a few minutes later, we're outside. a quick glance down a dark alley, and my stomach flops: two rows of people on either side, their backs against the wall. my first and only thought is, they've already started separating people. my friend is gone. as i turn to run, i realize that i didn't even notice the galloping horse between the hostages, its masked rider swinging an axe.

i'm caught on a steep set of stairs between two buildings--more horses, militia, again an axe. i duck into a hole in the wall, find myself surrounded by darkness, cement. a faint light in the middle of the room. a young girl on an operating table who calls the surgeon father, who thinks his experiments are routine, ordinary expressions of love. she's been here since childhood, i think. he pauses his incision to walk toward me, huddled behind a barrier. a cold, gentle smile, pleased with his new subject, the scalpel already touching my arm. during our struggle i manage to point it into his stomach, which takes the blade in a thick, bloodless fold, like the bending of a rolled-up carpet...