It was really dreary and sad but I walked around as the night fell, I don't know what I was looking for but I will definitely be haunted by it. I kept on saying 'maple syrup' for reasons I do not know of. After Toronto, I ended up in Somalia and saw my auntie there but my aunt happened to have a child and she was poor (which is not the case in real life) so I went to help her and her child ran along after us, at first I didn't look at the child much but I had noticed when I turned my head it looked Bantu. I asked her where the father is, she said he's not here anymore and I said did you want it? She broke down and started crying - after giving her moral support I told her she doesn't have to force herself to like it, if the child was Somali then she could but it's not. After crying even more she said she didn't want it and I should take it with me back to London and give him away to an adoption agency (this was a good deal since he'd get a nice life, but away from Somalia or Somalis). As we were leaving I died in a car crash and this is what woke me up (even my neck in real life was hurting) but I died a martyr of the gene pool and I don't know if the child died in the car with me but even if it didn't it would have no where to go back since we were in Mogadishu and my aunt lived in central Somalia. Win-win
