Middle Earth. The center of landform. Betwixt dirt and the outpost. Holdup… *Blushes*

Lately, Vera had lost her ability to recognize what was real or what was a dream state. She would find herself snapping her fingers so to awaken from a dream only to learn that the distinction (a fine line it is) between dream states and reality was hazy. Consequently, all of those around her became significant only in the sense that they could be interpreted or mis-interpreated as potential dream characters only. This fine line between the corporeal and dream states (mental imagery), those around her took notice and became indifferent with Vera. Eventually all of those around her vanished. Beyond having reached their limit for tolerance of Vera’s schizophrenic behavior. Vera would walk down streets swiping at passerby’s with her right hand, hoping the pedestrians would disappear from what became living night terrors.

the dog barks, unfortunately the caravan moves on

Had not for the barking of the dog, the weary migrants traveling in a caravan would not have moved on. This would have saved them from the treacherous fate of drowning in the monolithic waves of the Caspian sea where a storm blew up in synch with the migrants departure. One extra day of setting up camp would have spared the migrants their lives.