I like to jog.  Many people do.  I jog three times a week, usually.  One summer morning, though I seldom jog in the morning, I was out with our dog Mr. McCoy, Bones for short.

Bones and I were jogging near the waterfront, as we liked to do on warm some Sunday mornings.  Today was no different. 

The mid-August weather and the early morning sun had baked the sidewalk to a warm radiance that made the morning extra warm even considering it had only been daylight for a couple short hours. 

The sky was a clear blue, and I recall it vividly.  There was no clouds in sight and the wind gently brushed tiny water droplets against my face as my feet swept over the sidewalk in their steady prance.

I was feeling especially nostalgic that day.  I was thinking back to the day I got married and how much has changed since then.  The days flew by, weeks , months then years, and I’d been reflecting on the years passing when I heard it.

Bones immediately started to bark as the sky grew darker.  A fellow jogger jogged by, oblivious to what was happening, and as she passed I looked up to see a plane plummeting to the ground. 

Bones started to tug at his leash.  He wanted to get out of there.  So did I!

I looked ahead as the plane started to descend directly above me.  I knew if I didn’t act quickly it would surly land right there on the sidewalk and crush the woman who’d just jogged past. 

I bolted into action and ran after her, screaming my lungs out.  I didn’t really scream anything that could be recognized as words.  When you’re that afraid you just can’t form a sentence, word, or even anything more than a noise.  It sounded a little like “GET DOWN!” mixed with “DUCK!” and “PLANE!” but I cannot attest that any of those words were actually formed by my lips.  Bones only howled.  A low, alarming howl that I’d never heard before, nor heard since.

I knew she didn’t hear me and in a final act of desperation I dove at her hoping to throw her to the ground and out of immediate danger of a plan crash landing on her.

Sometimes I think of places, like medusas cave, a large drainpipe near my jr school that we used to frequent to prove our bravery. Or sometimes, a scared mixture if bravery often felt during my night break and enters of schools but no specific schools.

It makes me feel as if I forgot something important, or remembered something I should have done years ago. A sort of unsetteling underlying terror. It’s uncomfortable, and familiar all at once.

It really helps identify your feminine side when you want to be like a feminine character.  What’s probably more disturbing is that she’s a second string character, a “side kick” if you will, do I want to be a side kick?  She’s fantastically smart, yet shy and unattractive – what does that say about me?

Here is my logic.

Every “12″ (that is, 1912, 1812, 1712) has fronted the beginning of a war.  Each more horrific than the previous.  Therefor it follows that World War 4 will happen in 2012, and could possibly distroy the world.

So There.