A barren land stretched below the dark rock ridge atop which a middle aged man stood. Tired as he was, he was ready to climb down. Rumours had reached him of this forsaken land. Rumours of things he never believed in. Trees, withered and leafless, stood on this barren patch. Dreary it looked from above, rotten and full of despair.

The man slowly climbed down, carefully setting his tired parched feet on the footholds. Minutes later, he set foot on the accursed land.

"This is a sick land. Wonder what has made it so?" he thought.

Marching forward, he began to feel strange things. He just thought they were dreams, something that the look of the land induced into him. But as hours passed by, something made sure that his dreams were not just dreams. Dreams of people getting killed, people getting lost, people dying in accidents. And then feary figures flying.

He reached a dry river and when he looked down, he saw the same feary figures climbing up the riverbed. He ran but fate downplayed him.

THe dream was so hard that the same man got up and fearing the grey figures, he ran down the hall. His wife shouted, "Where the fuck are you running off to in this cold morning?" Her call was unheeded.

The man was running, fate downplayed him. He just ran into a heavy barked tree and fell down. Grey figures made merry beside him and soon got down to taste his blood.

Running down the road, the man still ran, heart beating fast, never realizing that it was just a dream. Grey figures still haunted him. Sun bathed light upon him and he looked up. His eyes were darkened. He rubbed his eyes. At that time a horn sounded at the back. And suddenyl he was thrown up into the air, the truck had failed to brake quickly. He fell down with a thud and breathed his last, blood gushing forth from his head. As his eyes closed down, he could see those same gray figures making merry on his death.