It's the stuff of nightmares which we have all had.
Hiding under a table and seeing the legs of the person you know would kill you, walking about three feet from your face.
Bad enough if you are an adult, like the man in the Hebdo office. Just think what is was like for those kids in the school in Pakistan.
Stuffing yourself under a child's desk like an ostrich with your head in the sand, knowing that the rest of your body is in full view, and your big, vulnerable arse will give you away, you just wait for the bullet like you do in nightmares.
Last night I lost H.I. again - as I have done so many times before - in a large city crissed-crossed with canals like Venice of Amsterdam, except about 50 times larger.
All I knew about the boat we arrived on was that it was made from solid bronze. I couldn't remember the name and by the time I had alighted and turned in the wrong direction, I was lost.
I tried to make a short-cut to get back to it, but found myself a quarter of a mile away without any obvious route back.
I climbed the cables of suspension bridges and - finally giving up - I asked a young policeman with no English to take me there. He asked the name of the ship, but I could not remember it.
I described it, and he intimated that he knew just the ship, so I followed him across more miles of waterways. I knew H.I. was not carrying a phone, so I knew there was no point in calling her.
If she had been holding a phone, my one would have gone wrong - I knew it from previous dreams.
Eventually, he took me to the end of a wide canal side and pointed to a ship. It was the wrong one and now I did not know where I was, nor how I could ever connect with H.I. again. The young policeman became side-tracked by a group of children and started to dance with them - Zorba like - forgetting me completely.
I stood in the middle of a square and began to cry like a lost child.
63 years old, and crying like an abandoned boy of 7.
This is how it is going to all end up, I know it.
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