I’m on top of a round brown building in the middle of nowhere. I’m staring down into the building through a hole at a couple dozen people scattered around the room. They are sitting in school desk chairs.

On the eastern side of the room, a dark-haired woman is looking up at me, beckoning me to acknowledge what she is doing. Sitting beside her is a cardboard box, which she opens. From the box, she removes a purple popsicle which she lifts up to show me. I reach down to grab it and my perspective is distorted as it seems my hand is giant in comparison to the dark-haired woman. The normal size popsicle that she was holding is now a miniature of itself held in between my thumb and forefinger. I look at the item for a moment and smile approvingly at the dark-haired woman before handing it back to her, which again, is normal in size when she holds it.

She hands the popsicle to someone sitting near her before hurriedly taking more popsicles of varying colors and flavors out of the box to hand to everyone else in the room. When she pulls out the last popsicle, which is red, it is suddenly apparent that there aren’t enough for everyone in this place, as there are three women sitting next to each other with one man sitting behind them on the western side of the room.

The exhausted woman on the left of the three is breast-feeding an infant, the woman in the middle is overly excited to receive a popsicle, and the woman on the right looks reserved and complacent with a half-smile. The man behind them sits somewhat in the shadows and is facing a different direction from everyone else. He seems faceless. The dark-haired woman approaches these last few people with her final popsicle and, before she can make a decision on who to hand the popsicle to, the excited woman in the middle jumps up and snatches the popsicle from her hand.

At this, I am very uneasy. It isn’t only the selfishness and disregard by the excited woman that causes me to be upset. I am also distressed by the passivity of the other few popsicle-less people. The breast-feeding woman is somewhat despondent and broken. A popsicle is her last concern. The man behind them is motionless and quiet. The half-smiling woman bothers me the most. She is too passive about this crime. She doesn’t seem to care at all that the last popsicle was stolen away in a selfish manner, or that she won’t be getting anything at all. She shrugs and looks up at me with the body language of , “Eh, it’s fine. I don’t care. Let her have it.” The dark-haired woman returns to her seat and is looking up at me, asking me what she should do.

I’m glaring at the excited woman as she furiously chomps away at her red popsicle, front teeth and all. She is red-faced, sticky, and snarling.