"1917"
I dreamed last night a fearful dream and this morning even the familiar contact of the subway has been unable to shake it from me.
I know of few things that are so momentarily tragical as awakening from a frightful dream. Even if you know with returning consciousness that it was a dream, it seems as if a part of it must have a basis in fact. The death that was recorded--is it true or not? And in your mind you grope among the familiar landmarks of your recollection to discover where the true and the fictitious join.
But this dream of last night was so vivid that this morning I cannot shake it from me.
I dreamed--ridiculously enough--that the whole world was at war, and that big and little nations were fighting.
In my dream the round earth hung before me against the background of the night, and red flames shot from every part.
I heard cries of anguish--men blinded by gases and crazed by suffering. I saw women dressed in black--a long procession stretching hideously

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