I smiled, taking in the breeze deeply through my flared nostrils. Unfolding beneath my feet ran a cool creek, lazily making its way to the base of a tall stone statue of Heracles, its edges worn smooth by time. Only a few steps toward it through the soft cool water eased my aching feet. I bent down to take a drink and felt the calming chill chase the water down my throat and to my core.

When I reached the statue, I hoisted the giant stone thing easily, feeling empowered. As I held it, I let Heracles’ giant shin rest against my forehead. The cool touch of his stone skin felt wonderful.

A sudden pain clenched my stomach in its angry fist. Heracles slipped from my fingers and slammed down on the toes of my right foot.

I came to with a mouthful of blood. My attempt at escaping into fantasy had only been fleeting – they were still here. I was still being—-

I tried to revisit the image, to recapture the feeling of drinking the creek water, to feel Heracles’ cool shin, to block it out, but could not.