The Great Pile Up

There was something about a cup and a sword and a tree and a green hill ...

I woke up with some strange dreams floating around in my head this morning.

Brittany, Kyle, and Isaac:  You were there.  You were all at my Grandma’s house that was on Highway Interstate 8.  We had a bridge that crossed over the interstate that was grassy and we would have BBQs out there for events and such.  I happened to look down over the Interstate and noticed an accident had  occurred involving about 50 cars.  The accident had been completely silent; there were no screeching tires, breaking glass.

I frantically whipped out my BlackBerry and called 911.  The operator was laughing at me and assured that everything will be okay.  By the time the phone call ended, there were instantly firemen, police officers, and medics around helping.

I jumped into the action overturning cars so they were wheel-side-down, singlhandedly pulling a car out of the hillside by its bumper, pulling people out of wreckage, helping in any way I could.  Miraculously, nobody was injured in the entire accident.  By the time I was finished helping, there must have been some carnival rides that were involved in the accident, and they had decided to set themselves up and offer rides to people.  Souvenir and food vendors appeared, trailers with sound systems were set up and playing music in unison, the road slowly disappeared into a grassy field entirely, the bridge had disappeared, and people were celebrating.  I tried desperately to take pictures with my camera, but every single one came out blurry, no matter what setting I used.

This would become a yearly event, commemorating the “great pile up” that injured nobody.