It was all a dream.

“Ugh…”

Lying on her back, she shielded her eyes from the morning sunlight that came streaming in through the open window.

There was definitely something she was forgetting. What was it again?

On her bedside table an old telephone began ringing loudly. Her hand fumbled for the receiver, dropping it twice before she brought it to her ear.

“Hello?”

As the one-sided conversation lengthened, she got off the bed to look out of the window at the early morning traffic, mumbling a half-hearted response every few minutes to assure her caller that she was still on the line.

An old woman on a bicycle passed by, cranking her bicycle bell. The sharp sound caused the fat pigeons by the side of the road to scatter.

Yawning, she stretched the kinks out of her muscles as she put the receiver back in its cradle. Pulling off her pajamas, she reached for the gun which hung in its holster on her bedpost. She pulled the straps around her waist and reached for another gun under her pillow. There was a third gun in her cupboard, but it was strictly for emergencies.

As she dressed herself in knee-long boots and simple clothes, her eyes wandered again to the window. The sky looked like a watercolour painting with thin white clouds and long streaks of blue.

Tightening the laces, she thumped her boots on the ground for good measure and reached for her cap.

Time to leave.

On the way she bought a sandwich to munch, something to fill her stomach without making her feel full. Children were playing on the pavement, drawing multicoloured chalk pictures of fairy tale creatures and robots. One particularly ugly one reminded her of a relative, and she smiled.

Squinting, she studied an address scribbled on a scrap of paper. It definitely qualified as chicken scratch. “Fifth avenue park…” she murmured. What a strange place.

The streets were quieter now. The workers were at work and the students were at school. The early morning commute was over.

Somewhere in the distance a dog barked. She looked up and saw a sign board: “Five ave-”

Before she could finish reading, a loud explosion caught her attention. Someone was in the park.

She ran quickly through the gate, a gun in her left hand and a knife in her right. Goodness knew why her aim was better that way. She was right-handed after all.

A large object hurtled through the air straight at her face. She dodged it easily, only to come face-to-face with a brutal-looking metal rod.

“Augh!”

She had barely managed to deflect it with her gun. Ducking behind a cracked marble statue, she fired two shots into the distance. A shout told her that at least one shot had found its mark. Several shots were fired in return.

Tension filled the air as a short moment of peace ensued. Silently, she crept out from behind the statue using a few overgrown shrubs for cover. Hearing a soft cry, she parted two thorny bushes to find a small girl cowering in fear. She dug into her back pocket for a grimy photo. It took only a split second for her to confirm her target. This was the child her client had asked for.

Towards her left she could hear voices approaching. She put her finger to her lips and the child nodded.

“I think she’s over here!” someone yelled. So much for hiding.

She grabbed the child by her waist and hoisted her out. They would have to make a break for it.

More shouts and gunfire. As the pursuers drew closer, the gunshots subsided, only to be replaced by sharp and (or) heavy short-range weapons. She caught a knife as it whizzed past her face and threw it back. Someone yelped.

The only good thing about being chased by so many people is that you can throw without looking and eventually hit someone.

There was a car waiting by the entrance. Her ride had arrived.

A short glance back told her that they would never make it, so she hoped that there would be someone in the car who had good catching skills. A short prayer later and the child was in the air, sailing towards the car and safety.

She turned back to fight, hoping that no one would be stupid enough to shoot the child out of the sky.

They came from every direction. All she had to do was to hold them off until her client left safely, after which she could run under the cover of a few well-aimed shots. After all, her chances were higher now that she had gotten rid of the extra baggage.

She heard the loud ‘screech’ of the tires and reached for the gun at her back. Now all she had to do was-

‘Click’

Her gun was empty. She had forgotten to replace the cartridges.

What kind of a nightmare was this?!

A sharp pain shot through her chest. Her attackers paused, sure that she was done for.

She smiled and raised her gun.

“Bang!” she mouthed.

As she fell, she closed her eyes. Maybe she would wake up again tomorrow, thinking that it was all a dream.

‘…and I dreamed I was a butterfly, carefree and happy, flying over the highest mountaintops and resting on the flowers, sucking sweet nectar. A storm came and strong winds blew. I was thrown off the mountain, and I woke up. Even now I wonder, am I a scholar who dreamt of being a butterfly, or am I a butterfly who is dreaming of being a scholar?’