I was sleeping in bed at home and woke up to find that a train was passing a huge window in front of me. It was so close and traveling so fast that it frightened me. I noticed, too, that the trailer was moving, also on tracks. Sometimes the train was faster, sometimes the train. Later, when sensed my dad walking around nearby, I wondered who was driving the trailer. So we went on and on, seemingly endlessly. I didn't know what kept us on the rails.
I was at a mall or other public place talking with acquaintances when I noticed a grill in the wall and realized that the state or the police were listening to us. I felt guilty as though we had been plotting something and fled up some stairs. It occurred to me that this wasn't far enough to escape the clutches of the people behind the grill and that I was probably surrounded by electronic surveillance, but I didn't know where else to go and I had a sense that I could evade them.
I found myself in an apartment at first, greeted by a cat, then another cat, then another, and another, and another. Had I found refuge with a cat hoarder? She was talking to a rabbit in a cage, which bothered me at the back of my mind. I didn't know why, but it slowly occurred to me that the rabbit was not a pet like the cats, but was slated for slaughter. Horrified, I fled again.
This time, I came out into a courtyard that led to open country. I felt a little more free, but I felt that I still could be seen and heard. I despaired at the lack of freedom, even out here. There was nowhere to left to go and to hide—why I needed to hide, I didn't understand.