The cold night air streamed across my stained and tattered clothing, penetrating through the thin cloth. I shivered as I looked around. I was in a deserted ally between a series of large, brick buildings. The cobbled ground below me was covered in slime and pocketed with mud puddles. A strong stench emanated from the series of dark gray trash cans that sat along the path. I shivered again. How had I gotten here? The last thing I remembered was crawling into my warm, cozy bed and pulling the quilted covers up high to protect me from the cold. It must be a dream I realized. I looked down at my clothes. They were a dark brown, stained by dirt and grime, my pants shredded up to the knee, the shirt torn off at the elbows. It was impossible to tell what color they might have once been.
Well, as long as it was a dream, I might as well have some fun, right? With this happy thought, I started out on my adventure, the cold forgotten. I began at a slow trot, but that soon accelerated into a fast run. I dashed through the alleys, exploring the maze of spaces between the buildings. Faster and faster I went, leaping over trash cans, splashing through puddles, printing along strait stretches of track.
Finally, sweating despite the chill night air, I paused to catch my breath. Such a realistic dream! I could feel every patch of slime under my feet and every splash of mud on my legs. Then, it struck me. It was very realistic, in fact, it was too realistic. Too realistic to be a dream. I pinched myself hard, trying to wake myself up, but the only reward for my efforts was a stinging sensation on my right arm. I tried again. The result was the same. I tried desperately to push down the panic rising in my chest. It must be a dream. It has to be a dream.
Behind me, a gruff voice called out, “Hey, you there!” It was a constable. I knew what they did to boys seen slinking about this time of night. They were thieves and were often put in jail or an orphanage. I was about to take off, but one part of me hesitated. Maybe he could help. Then I began to run. He would never listen to me, not in the state I was in. He would have listened to the me that was lying comfortable and warm in bed, but not who I was now. I heard footsteps behind me and speed up my pace.
Then, as I rounded a corner, everything went wrong. I ran full stride into a garbage can, similar to the ones that I had seen earlier. I tumbled over the metal cylinder, towards the hard, cobbled walkway below, vainly trying to stop my headlong progress. All at once, the world went black.
I woke to the soft chirping of song birds outside the window. My mother was standing over me, smiling sweetly. “Good morning, dear” She said. I pushed back the warm bedcovers and heard a startled gasp from my mom. “How on earth did you get in those clothes?” She asked, surprised. Then she turned and started for the door. “Change out of them immediately! Then bring them down and I will dispose of the filthy rags!” As the door shut behind her, I looked down at my clothing. They were a dark brown, stained by dirt and grime, my pants shredded up to the knee, the shirt torn off at the elbows.