If I saw it in a movie, I’d look away, or cover my eyes. I certainly wouldn’t fixate on the details, taking in the sights and sounds and smells.
I wouldn’t know the trajectory of her thoughts, or notice the desperation grow as the minutes accumulate more and more rapidly.
No, I wouldn’t relate to this story. I’d be as naïve as the religious folk we all love to hate. I’d be safe and sound and whole within.
But in this nightmare of a dream I get no such luxury. I’m a front row spectator to my own personal tragedy.