i'm walking around a run down old town. it's nighttime, but the sky is still lit like the sun hasn't completely left. i'm not who i am, instead i'm a young woman. i think i am a journalist or just a photographer. i'm carrying this strange polaroid camera. it looks a like a typical nikon camera except for horizontal slit at the bottom that slowly rolls out the captured polaroids.
the houses and garages are made of paint-stripping rotting wood. they're all closely knit together. the place looks like it was abruptly abandoned. cheap christmas lights give off a soft amber glow as i walk on well-worn alleyway concrete. despite the claustrophobic nature of each alleyway, i could imagine the comfy nature of the neighborhood it once was.
i hear crickets chirping and frogs croaking as i walk around.
i stop to snap a picture and notice that each one i capture gives a look into the past of the town. in one of the pictures, the decaying house i captured appeared lived-in and peachy. it was well maintained and welcoming. the garage doors were a calming deep green and the outer walls were covered in white vinyl plating.
i continue taking pictures for sometime before i take my leave.
as i walk up a severely damaged and patched ramp to the highway next to the town, a hooded man starts chasing me with a knife. they're wearing a gray hoodie with unintelligible varsity numbers on their chest.
i get to the highway where cars are whizzing. the man eventually reaches me as i run out of breath.
but then i wake up.