Historical Hallucinations

4. The Roman Run

Again, the same bewildering occurrence happened the next night. John's eyelids closed, transporting him to another world. Sort of.
He sat up, this time on a dirt floor. His eyes adjusted to the dark shade of the unfamiliar room. It looked like a mud hut. He realized he was wearing what looked like a Roman toga, and his actual clothes were laid out in a corner against the wall. 
There was a small, wood table in the corner of the house, which was a one-room house. In fact, it was hardly a house.
John peeped out the slit behind his bed and was amazed to see the unmistakable atmosphere of the Roman Empire.
Torches, roads, houses, amazing architecture filled the spectrum of his eyes. 
In the distance, he could make out the Colosseum. He was in the vicinity of Rome.
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! Roman soldiers marched on the road passing the house.
John quickly hid from sight as they passed by. He remembered his dream last night.
But these weren't normal dreams, if you could even call them dreams. They were so realistic; John could still feel the burn from the pharaoh's boiling water. 
The stinging sensation made John go crazy.  It hurt so bad but it felt so good.  This was no nightmare for John; he was experiencing his favorite subject firsthand.
Suddenly, voices boomed where the soldiers went. He could hear rocks falling.
John rushed outside unrecognized thanks to his toga. Other people were on the streets, concerned.
Barbarians.  Visigoths, to be exact. As the Roman soldiers fended them off, John ran back in the house.
He knew he needed to hide or get out of Rome until he woke up.
But how? He looked around desperately for a weapon lying around his tiny house. There was absolutely nothing he could use to protect himself.
Maybe he would be alright. Maybe that dream last night was just a weird occurrence. People can't die in dreams.
Just to make sure, he decided to head out of Rome. He could hear the sound of spears hitting each other; the fight was moving closer to him.
Behind his house, was a small forest-like area he decided to hide in.
KLANK! KLANK! He heard the impact of metal. Suddenly, he heard the fighting and yelling abruptly stop.
Crouching behind a rock, he could just make out who won the fight. The Roman soldiers were sprawled on the ground, an army of barbaric Visigoths surrounded them.
Stunned like a person confronting their greatest fear, he realized what was happening. The sack of Rome. He needed to leave as soon as possible.
Villagers screamed as they were either killed or captured by the invaders.
John turned and sprinted deeper into that unknown forest. Looking back, he saw the darkness of midnight combining with the light of the Roman torches.
John longed for just an opportunity to admire the unmistaken beauty behind him, but hearing the sound of the Visigoths screaming in Gothic Latin frightened him enough to keep him going. 
As he ran forward, he noticed some lights in the forest.  It was a hut!  There was someone inside, so John decided to hide behind the hut. 
When will I wake up?  He thought in frustration.  He clamped his fingers over his skin, but even pinching himself didn't work.  Waiting it out seemed like the only option. 
After sitting down for what seemed like an hour, he heard distinct voices. 
Peering around the corner, he recognized the bronze helmet and the red cloth of the Visigoths' outfit. 
Two of them charged in the house and raided it.  John could hear the old man who lived there scream as he was punctured by their sharp spears. 
John was tired of running, but he had to move.  Those determined Visigoths came outside and started chasing a tired John. 
He forced his legs to muster just a bit more sprinting, but in a matter of minutes, the Visigoths caught up to him and tackled him. 
They pinned him down with intimidation, and trapped him with their spears.
"Tu posse te flammea preauertet celeris nobis," said a larger Visigoth.  He aimed his staff of death right at John's skull. 
He didn't know Latin, which made him worried.  The tip of the spear was a centimeter from his head.  They poked him with it lightly, the tip now grazing his skin.  It hurt!  Just like in the Egyptian dream that he somehow remembered, he could feel everything. 
They laughed a mighty laugh and prepared to drive their weapon straight into his head.  He closed his eyes and prayed he could wake up. 
If I don't make it, I hope someone knows the truth.  I don't just want to disappear.  There was no way for anyone to know what happened to him; this was unnatural, and worst of all, in another dimension that he could only create.
John cursed himself for studying the sack of Rome last night. If he only could've studied the Renaissance or something different-something lighter and more peaceful. His eyes were still closed when it happened.