The Otis elevator climbing the south pillar of the Eiffel Tower was overflowing with people. Inside the cramped lift, an austere old man in white, gazed down at the boy beside him. "You look pale, you should have stayed on the ground."
"I'm fine..." he replied, making every effort to put his anxiety in check. "I'll get out on the next level." I can't breathe.
The man leaned closer. "I thought by now you would have gotten over this." He brushed the child's cheek affectionately.
The boy felt remorseful to let down his father, he could hardly make out the muttering in his ears. I can't breathe. I've got to get off this box!
Suddenly a staccato crack echoed overhead. The carriage jerked, swaying awkwardly to one side. Frayed cables began whipping around the carriage, thrashing like snakes.
Then the bottom dropped out.
The boy began falling for what seemed like eternity. The muttering in his ear became audible, telling tales of the dead.
You have been chosen. Yes you To liberate us
The whispers became deafening as he kept falling.
He landed on his bed. The mattress was soaked from his perspiration.
It was a dream! The meaning was elusive.