The sun was high.

My towel lies on a sandy beach bereft of any water. My canine companion, laid out in a pregnant sprawl, is panting sporadically in the heat.

As I re-position myself, I notice a large bulge near her hindquarters. I begin to massage the bulge near her belly and can feel the object move through her. As it nears her backside, I force my hand into her, gently, yet purposeful. My hand returns to the hot air of the beach groping a small puppy, flesh dried and cracked, like a mummy discovered after thousands of years of quiet slumber. It is dead.

I am unfazed and emotionless. I try to recall this happening once before but my mind is an endless maze of fog and mist. Despite not recalling this experience, I am still unaffected by its occurrence.

I only have a moment to think these thoughts before my focus is shifted back to the dog. She whines, quietly. Another bulge appears at her rear but this one seems more lively. She pushes out a young pup, white and black, with the blindness that accompanies first life. This one is healthy, passionate about the prospect of living. Its instincts kick in. Feeling around for a comfortable area, the pup finally settles near the edge of the towel, partially crossing the sand.

I reach down and grab a small metal object, curved in a half-moon pattern, which I place on the ground. The curve fits snugly against the pup's spine, shielding him from the fury of the hot sand.

I turn back to its mother, expecting more of a litter. When nothing happens, I am not confused, but I am slightly disappointed. Dogs are not supposed to have just one pup. What has transpired here does not align with what I believe I know, but I accept what has happened without a second thought.

I shift my gaze back to the pup. He has grown since I saw him thirty seconds earlier, his eyes now wide to the ever-changing world around him. The sand has turned to short, cool grass. I am not surprised. But why? Sand does not just change to grass when one looks away from it. But I am resolute in my condition.

I turn to peer over my shoulder and see a tall, thin building a few yards away. The front facade has no entry, only windows and a surrounding veneer of rusted, orange brick. 

My canine companion starts to talk to me. Her mouth does not move, yet I hear her. She asks me about the two brick houses behind me. I turn to peer over my shoulder again and am not surprised to see two houses, the second to the right of, and set back from, the original house. This house is still two stories but the brick is slightly more brown and the facade is longer. This house is surrounded by several trees, the only trees that grace the rolling landscape.

I do not like this house. Aesthetically, there is nothing wrong with it. But I do not like it. I talk to my dog about the house but I don't remember what I say. I know the content contains that specific house, but as soon as the words are uttered, their echo is lost and does not return to my mind. I do not understand the words that I speak. My dog seems to understand. I do not tell her I dislike the house. 

The house on the left compels me. I stand up and walk toward it. I leave the dogs alone on the towel. The mother is exhausted, left with her newborn, but I know they will be all right. The sky is very blue as I walk to the side of the house and open the door. I step inside. I walk into a long, white kitchen. This is my kitchen. This is my house. The floor plan of my house does not match the floor plan of this house. The volumes are off, the spaces wrong. But this is my house. They are the same. And I am not surprised.

I feel someone watching me. They want me here and I want to be here. But I do not know where to go. I feel something moving my legs as I walk to the dining room. My dining room. I don't know which way to turn but still I'm guided by phantom legs and the way becomes clear. Something is propelling my legs in the right direction. I want to stop and turn around but I dare not. I've come this far. I must keep moving.

I'm taken down a hallway into the last room on the right. I sit on the edge of the bed, facing the door. This is my sister's room. The windows are shaded but all the lights are on, highlighting the yellow paint. I look at the wall to my left. This is my sister's room but this left wall is my wall. My dresser is against this wall. I am not surprised.

I hear the person who led me hear speaking but I cannot recall what it's saying. I do not see it but it does not seem menacing. Still, I am quite afraid. I look between the trinkets on the shelf of my dresser and see its face. It is a purple patterned face, like some type of paisley fabric, on a rounded head. Is it yelling at me? I look into the plastic eyes and am aware of its entire body. It is thin as if it were stuffed with cotton and sewed together. I am no longer aware of any speaking but remain afraid. He wants me here. But for what reason, I don't know...Then everything turns to black.

I am not surprised.