Something terrible was going to happen. I could sense it. There were three to four people in the house with me. I tried to tell them that we needed to do something about it. But none of them believed me. My mother, the person who panics at the senseless “news” from neighbors saying a tsunami was heading our place even though the nearest body of water we have is only a river, didn’t believe me. In a sarcastic tone, she says, “If you have a vision of this thing happening, maybe I’ll believe you.” And I looked at her, dead serious, “But mother, I told you. I had a vision.” But I wasn’t even sure when I told my mother or of what I saw or if I even had a vision in the first place. Then came the heavy rain, the thunder and the lightning, and suddenly the ground was shaking. All around me, the people with me were wide-eyed. I looked to the window and I saw everything around us was covered in water. And I cried. I wept. I mourned. The world that seemed ever so beautiful to me was dead right before my eyes. The people sank dead under water, and I lamented their passing because even though I didn’t know all of them, I cared for them all the same. No other human being was insight. Even the people with me in the house didn’t seem human at all. I wailed, realizing I was left alone.
I was glad to have woken up. It was all just a dream. But it left me depressed of the thought of the world dying around me whilst I live.