My nightmare last night was a strange combination of the last two books I've read: Nathaniel Branden's My Years With Ayn Rand and Homer Hickam's October Sky. I was back in High School, but the corridors were those of college and I was lost underground. I made it to my class in Beckman and realized, upon looking at the fuzzy blackboard, that I had the wrong pair of glasses on. I took them off and saw my own glasses hanging around my neck. I must have picked up someone elses glasses earlier - what if they needed them? I inquired around my seat, and decided it must have been in a previous class.

Sigh. Feeling foolish, I trudged down the hallway, retracing my steps. I entered a large foyer, where many students sat and talked or read, while a few groups surrounded teachers. I approached a group where a student was contact juggling, which I was surprised the teacher tolerated. Kids these days. I knew the answers to her questions but I wasn't in her class so I wasn't supposed to answer but it was hard to keep quiet. I approached a kid I knew, sitting in a chair, with slicked back hair ending in a little ponytail.

"How's it going, you dirty little rat", I said affectionately.

He looked at me sharply and said loudly "What did you call me?".

I didn't think it had been that bad, and stammered "I..I was just joking".

People around the foyer were starting to look at us. With menace in his tone, he said "How dare you."

What was his problem? From the depths of my memory, a vague thought surfaced. The football team of our rival high school - were they called the Rats? I didn't really care about such things. Was that what was making him mad? I paid so little attention I didn't know the name of our rivals, so I said "Is it...because *their* team is called the..." I trailed off.

He stood up, hatred in his eyes, and I knew that I had hit on the correct explanation. Everyone else in the foyer was looking at us, and my arguments only made them angrier. "I didn't realize...But who cares anyway! Its just stupid football. What's the big deal? It doesn't really matter. Its not important. I just don't care very much about those things."

Collectively, they advanced on me, radiating implacable hatred. I couldn't believe I was going to be lynched because I'd jokingly called someone by the name of a rival sports team.

"You're acting like some kind of fucking tribe! Like overzealous patriots! Can't you see that these lines are arbitrary, that they don't matter, that you are being slaves to your primate instincts? We're all people! You guys are crazy!"

They ignored me and continued to advance. There was nowhere to run. I punched the first one in the chest, and then they descended on me in a horde, every expression and movement identical, many acting as one. Overwhelmed by their battering, I sank back into oblivion.

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