George lurched upright in his bed drenched in a cold sweat. The dream he just had was now just a series of images, but no less terrifying.
It was night, and he stood behind an angry mob. They wielded torches, chainsaws and pitchforks. Several members of the crowd noticed him, then more. Before he knew what was happening, George was running for his life.
George knew he could out run the mob, but the pouring rain turned the ground to soft mud. His steps shifted and his feet sank deep, keeping the violent crowd precariously close.
It was then that he noticed his feet. They were large, scaly claws. The wings on his back spread wide. With barely an effort the dragon soared above the clouds. The sun embraced him in a soft white light.
Flying quickly became a struggle as he was surrounded by a thick fluid. He scratched and jabbed at the wall that entrapped him, desperate for breath.
A crack formed. Then another. His release from the egg caught him by surprise. Before he could stretch his wings, he landed in a frying pan. He was surrounded by several chickens, a turkey and an ostrich. George struggled to his feet, then leaped for freedom, only to be sucked into an exhaust fan. Around and around the tornado whipped. His stomach soured by the endless swirl.
George threw up a stream of fire which scorched a coffee plantation. Farmers gathered with torches and chainsaws and pitchforks.
At that moment George woke up. Outside he could hear the sounds of the city. He lay back in his bead, wondering what it would be like to be a dinosaur.