I was attempting to get to the airport, but there were military checkpoints throughout the neighborhood. The soldiers were searching for a fugitive, Gilad X. I had seen Gilad X only an hour before, but I knew if I disclosed this they would never let me make my flight.
We were waved through the first checkpoint. But then my mother told me she had left Gilad X’s golf clubs in the trunk of the car, and that they had his name sewn on them in enormous bubble-letters. If the soldiers looked in the trunk we were doomed.
We made it through the second checkpoint as well, but at the third we were asked to get out of the car. The soldiers were all bald women. They said they were Israeli, but this was clearly untrue.
They looked in the windows, but didn’t notice the golf clubs. A soldier took me into a trailer, and began asking me questions. Then I felt a sharp pain in my spine and wrist, and noticed there were needles in me. A TV monitor began showing my memories. Flashes of Gilad X’s forehead appeared, from just the angle I had seen it an hour before.
“Aha!” said the soldier.
“I didn’t consent to this,” I said. “You can’t extract my memories without permission.”
She laughed louder and I gave up all hopes of making my flight.