The Lion and the Lamb

Looking up, a lion leaps from the roof of a store onto the petrified zebra. Slashing wildly with its claws, the Zebra is cut but runs. It streams past me, hair flying gracefully through the wind, blood staining its white-black fur. The lion chases, but for only a moment; turning its attention to me instead. Like the Zebra I am frozen with fear. I can feel it creeping across the receptors in my brain, firing madly to try and move me, but my bones were still. With another earth-shaking roar, it lifted a small car and hurled it at me. The cement came up to meet me as I dove for the ground, the automobile whizzing only inches above my head. I looked up to see a rifle lying on the ground before me. I lunged, arms extended beyond their reach in an effort to grab the handle. With the weapon firmly between my fingers, I rolled to my feet. Through the sights, the Lion was only but a few feet from me. Again he roared and swung one of his heavy, claw laden paws. The rifle thundered a thousand times greater than the roar of the lion and I woke with a shower of cold sweat streaming down my body.