Fly me back...to where my home is?

i was holding a brand new book. it slipped from my hands and fell into a puddle far away, and sank into the puddle and was completely submerged. i'll get it for you, he said, and started running towards the puddle. don't bother, it's ok, i started to say but before the words were out of my mouth he was striding across the parking lot, jumping over puddles that varied in depth and murkiness, the one my book was lying in being the deepest and blackest of all, as black as the night sky we were under. i saw it coming before he did, the huge truck racing across the parking lot, i opened my mouth to scream a warning but all i could do was run closer to where he stood bent over, picking up my book. he looked up as the truck approached, and fell flat on his back. i hid my face in my hands, not wanting to see what would come next, and when next i peeked, miraculously the truck had swerved past him. i was about to breathe a sigh of relief but then realized the truck had crashed into two other persons who then faded from the scene. he walked back to me, bloodied and breathless, holding the book in his hand. it was dry, although now it looked old. i wondered why i didn't feel more gratitude than i did. the last thing i remember...i took the book from him, and then darkness.
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