I hustled through the bustling Upper East Side of Manhattan trying to get to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. People constantly bumping into me, taxis honking and turning within an inch of my legs, and ambulance sirens blaring. It was Tuesday afternoon and I had to pick a painting for Professor Graff the next day! I ran in, didn’t bother with the suggested admission, and headed straight for the 19^th century section. The museum was empty, and as I rushed through my footsteps rang out against the marble floor. I headed down a hallway, turned a corner, and…

“GET OUT OF THE WAY!”

My first thought was that I was somehow back in the middle of Manhattan. But then I took a closer look around. I saw dirt cobble roads, and short stone buildings bedecked with statues and balconies. Men, women, and children were wearing peasant garb complete with leather boots, headscarves, and satchels. A sharp glint of silver caught my eye, and my heart jumped. Soldiers clad in metal armor, helmets, and carrying more weapons than I could name. There was a huge commotion going on, but I was so disoriented I didn’t know why or what to do with myself.

I ran inside a nearby pub, which was empty other than the bartender who was frantically storing away his drinks in a cellar.

“What’s going on out there,” I ask.

“Why don’t you remember? It’s the monthly “taxation” by the despicable Lord Valdemar. He’ll burn the town down if we don’t provide him with enough of our money!”

He leads me to a window and I peek outside and get a closer look. I see the King sitting on a throne, enjoying the pillaging spree that was overtaking the town. Men are being dragged by the ears, and little boys are hauling large golden cutlery.  There is a poor woman clutching a baby in her arms with a girl tugging at her skirt. She’s staring up to the sky, praying.

I suddenly felt a pang of sadness and sympathy for these people. They clearly had very little in their lives, and this wretched king was taking that little away from them. I felt the need to do something, but I was torn.

Suddenly, soldiers burst into the bar and ran to the counter, looking for money and booze. The bartender yelled at me to go, and I found myself zig-zagging through the streets of Visby, Denmark without a clue of where I was. I passed an old lady pushing a cart overflowing with gold, in tears. I turned a corner and saw in the distance a man being crucified. Metal clattering, babies crying, soldiers shouting.

I sprinted down an alleyway, and looked behind me to see if anyone followed. I turned my head, my shoulder hit into someone’s hand and I frantically jumped…

“Sir? It’s closing time. You need to leave”

Back into the silence of the Met. I still had ringing in my ears from the commotion in Denmark. I walked back outside to the streets of the city, and it was all strangely calming. After the tragedy I had just experienced, I walked through my hometown with a new appreciation—living in commotion in peace.