One evening, like every other, I was defeated by my insomnia. I rubbed the arthritis from my wrists and watched the fall of raindrops splash against the skylight window above my head. The sound they made was like a herd of tiny horses racing across the glass. The rain trickled down the window in lines like streams—streams that my wife would never see. I drifted down one of them in the raft that I had built when I was nine years old. I hung my legs over the side, dipped my toes into the water, and watched my foot as it met its reflection. The water was cold on my toes, and I flinched at first. The ends of my faded brown shorts dipped into the water and held the liquid, transforming the tan material to chocolate brown. The sunlight warmed the top of my head. My body must have been confused—warm at the top and cold at the bottom. Soon, the warmth descended down my body, and my feet became adjusted to the icy cold.

I stared across my room and out of the stream and saw something I'd never seen before. I rolled out of bed and crossed the room. The wood floorboards creaked and squeaked, and I cut my toe on a nail that was uprooting itself from the wood. Beside my wife's Zenith television set, there was a crack in my wall. Lightning flashed outside my skylight and illuminated the crack in my dark room. I thought it queer that I had never seen it before and wondered what had caused it. I sat down on the foot of my bed softly, as to not disturb the sleeping monster, and stared at the crack. It seemed to grow the more I stared at it. Growing and growing until it appeared that it stretched down my entire wall.

My raft struck land. I must have been drifting for hours. I sat up from my raft and looked around. A crowd was gathering around a tree. Climbing off my raft and onto the fresh dirt, I walked over to the crowd.

"What's going on?" I asked a man in brown clothes. He had dirt and dried blood all over his chest.

"We're gonna shoot a man," he replied. "Right in the head."

"Why? What did he do?" I asked.

"He's an enemy. Caught him crossin onto our side of the river."

I stepped backward.

"Nothin for you to worry about, kid," he said, ruffling my hair. "You're no spy. You're all right over here.”

"No, I'm not a spy," I said.

The crowd all began to shout horrible obscenities, I saw a man on a pedestal above the heads of the crowd. He was screaming a myriad of words I couldn't comprehend. The crowd understood him, though, and cheered in the proper places. Another man stood in front of the Screamer, blindfolded with his hands behind his back. He did not appear to be scared. I admired him for that. He stood proudly with his chest out, ignoring the beasts that cried evil against him.

"Shoot him!" they cried. "Take off the blindfold and shoot him between his eyes! Let him see it!"

The Prisoner waited for what was to come, his green shirt and pants fluttering in the wind. His shirt looked like a sail on an old ship sailing across the ocean. The Screamer raised his shotgun to the back of the prisoner's head. I stared at him, waiting for him to start sweating or for a tear to trickle down his check, like a stream of raindrops down the glass of a window. He didn't. He stared forward, content with what was to come.

"On the count of three, I will blow off the intruder's head. One."

The wind wisped past my ears, and I wanted to tum away from the scene. I didn't want to watch the prisoner's head explode, but I did. Something forced me to stare forward. I wanted to watch the prisoner die, but I was afraid—afraid of what was to come.

"Two."

I turned to run but fell to the ground. My feet wouldn't move, cemented to the ground. The soldier who I had befriended turned and lifted me to my feet. He stared into my eyes and scared me. Then he looked away, and I returned my focus to the shotgun. I was supposed to watch the Prisoner, I had to. I looked at him, expecting him to run, to move any one bit. But he didn't. He stood upright, proud, and willing to let the bullets enter his brain and destroy everything he ever was.

"Three."

I saw the sun rising above my head. The crack in my wall shrunk to the small divot in the sheetrock. I laid my head on my pillow and turned to my wife, watching snot gather in her nostrils. I rolled off of my bed. I proceded to change into a fresh shirt and slacks and left the house. I never went back.