How much of this was real? How much was a dream?

It was finally raining, and the question haunted the man as he sat hunched over in the alley where he had been awakened moments earlier by a brutal kick. The boys laughed at him, hurling insults he didn't quite comprehend, and eventually snatched his mask away.

If the doctor was right, he'd be dead soon. Whatever was in the air would kill him without a mask. But it had been raining that night, the first time it had rained in a long time, based on the layers of dust on everything, so maybe the air would be cleaner now.

His body was already failing, weakened by days or perhaps weeks of scarce food, mostly scavenged from restaurant trash bins.

Isolation had become his constant companion. Everyone wore large masks on the street, and every time he had tried to enter a building where he might be able to take his off, he had met with abject failure. This city looked like a war zone, the few scattered businesses armed with guards and heavy fortifications and security measures.

The people seemed to fall into two very distinct classes. A few glided around in futuristic cars, sometimes emerging only for seconds while they entered a building. Heavily guarded each step of the way; it was as if they expected to be attacked. But by whom?

The other class of people, which he seemed to now be a part of, walked the streets slowly, seemingly aimlessly. At first, they looked to him almost like zombies, but after a few encounters, the man realized they were like homeless people he remembered from his old life, roaming the streets. But these couldn't be homeless; there were way too many. Anyway, he was homeless.

He had been slowly making his way through the city, trying to get into places, talk to people. A few hours ago, after a surprisingly good plate of leftover lasagna, he had lain down in an alley to sleep.

Despair crept in. Where was God in all this?

Today he had been planning to visit a church he had spied about a mile down the street he now navigated. As he drifted to sleep, he distinctly remembered thanking God for the unexpected meal and asking for deliverance. Now he probably had a cracked rib or two, no mask, and no strength to go on.

"Thanks a lot, God." he breathed. "Maybe you are gone too. It sure looks that way."

Still, the man decided to make one last push for the church he had glimpsed. Who knows, maybe they would let him in there. Didn't some churches have soup kitchens?

The man slowly made his way down the street, mostly walking in the street itself. There were not very many vehicles, and the sidewalks were unpassable. He did have to keep vigilant, though, as vehicles, especially these small motorcycle-looking vehicles, drove the street at incredible speed. And in almost complete silence. He often would feel the wind wake of these machines before he even realized they were flying past him.

Not much longer now. The man could see the church building ahead. He could hear music in the distance. Not the music he would have expected from a church, though. And it was getting louder quickly.

As he started up the steps to the church, he realized the music wasn't coming from there at all. He swung around, rooted to the spot, as a motorcycle slowly approached and stopped in front of the church steps, feet away from where he was standing. The music, some techno-death metal blend, blared from speakers hidden somewhere in the terrifying machine before him.

Suddenly it stopped.

"No mask, sir?"

"Some kids stole my mask," the man began, "I'm hoping to find one in ..."

"Kids, huh?" the motorcycle rider interrupted as he removed his helmet. "Is that what we're calling them now?"

The man stared. The young man, not much older than a teen, with platinum blond hair and light blue eyes, sat there with a smirk on his face. He looked for all the world like a beach bum on his way to a day of surfing. What was he doing in this world?

"... no stinkin' mask."

The old man realized he had missed what the rider said. "What?"

"You don't need it. Wake up. Breathe!"

And with that, he was off with an explosion of symphonic sound.

The church doors slowly creaked open as the old man pulled on an ancient handle. He shuffled into the darkness and slowly fumbled his way to another door. Light came through the crack at the bottom of the door. But from the sounds he heard, he could already tell this was no place of worship.