My dreams never cease to be dreams. (post 2)
I had a very bizarre dream last night, and I wish I could recall all of it. It started at a party of some sorts in a run-down apartment building. I was sipping whiskey, and having a swell time, when I was approached by a tall man wearing all black. He looked right at me, and before I could interpret what was happening, he pulled out a pocket .38, pointed, and fired at me--missing by a hair. Unarmed (stupid, huh?) and having any sense, I booked down the hallway behind me, stumbling through different rooms of the apartment, everybody taking cover. After a couple of turns, I encountered the tall man again, in which he made another attempt on my life, missing this time, also. After another evasion, I managed to find my way to the front door and made an escape.
I was enclosed in a neighborhood composed of about four or five parallel three-block long roads, all residential. Some shanties, some large homes, some trailers. There is a gap here, but after a lot of running and desperate attempts to find something to arm myself with, there were four teams of four people after me. The teams had different uniforms, and different styles of tactics. I recall one of them fairly vividly--the leader was a very tall and muscular Russian man, with a large ring on his left hand that said "MK". I am not sure if this is the man who first attacked me at the party. The other three members were enormous, also, and armed with massive pistols and fully-automatic rifles. They rolled up and down the streets on a massive war-machine, something straight out of G.I. Joe. These four teams, no matter where I hid, took cover, ran, knew where I was. I was probably GPS'ed. The cat-and-mouse went on for a very long time, and in the pinnacle of it, I was peppered with .22 rounds, at least eight of them in the torso, but they must not have been hollow-points, because the exit wounds were clean. Strange that I did not bleed a lot, but I was in great pain for the remainder of the dream.
After a frantic time of racing around the streets, making pleas to friends and acquaintances, I managed to build myself a rag-tag team of people to defend me, but all I could find to arm myself with personally was the .38 from the beginning of the dream, and there were only two rounds left in it. My Team successfully acted as decoys and distractions as the hunt continued. The decoy trial worked well, as the four teams that were after me did not at all seem to be interested in harming the friends protecting me. Later, though, I found myself in a well-populated part of town, as 'MK's hulking frame approached me. I dropped the .38 and darted into the closest building, which happened to be a one-room schoolhouse, in session. I hid behind a desk and watched him enter. He looked right at me, approaching at a slow pace. I stood and pointed, shouting "HE HAS A GUN!" just as he pulled out a large .45 and squeezed two rounds off--one of them hitting a child next to me, the other round into the wall. Two police officers at the door leapt and tackled him, and I took the opportunity to get the hell out of there, and was relieved to see that my entourage of friends had killed the remainder of 'MK's team and commandeered their massive tractor-like war machine. I hopped on, grabbing a black pump-action 12 gauge from a rack of weapons, and we rode it out of town.
It'd make a great movie.
I was enclosed in a neighborhood composed of about four or five parallel three-block long roads, all residential. Some shanties, some large homes, some trailers. There is a gap here, but after a lot of running and desperate attempts to find something to arm myself with, there were four teams of four people after me. The teams had different uniforms, and different styles of tactics. I recall one of them fairly vividly--the leader was a very tall and muscular Russian man, with a large ring on his left hand that said "MK". I am not sure if this is the man who first attacked me at the party. The other three members were enormous, also, and armed with massive pistols and fully-automatic rifles. They rolled up and down the streets on a massive war-machine, something straight out of G.I. Joe. These four teams, no matter where I hid, took cover, ran, knew where I was. I was probably GPS'ed. The cat-and-mouse went on for a very long time, and in the pinnacle of it, I was peppered with .22 rounds, at least eight of them in the torso, but they must not have been hollow-points, because the exit wounds were clean. Strange that I did not bleed a lot, but I was in great pain for the remainder of the dream.
After a frantic time of racing around the streets, making pleas to friends and acquaintances, I managed to build myself a rag-tag team of people to defend me, but all I could find to arm myself with personally was the .38 from the beginning of the dream, and there were only two rounds left in it. My Team successfully acted as decoys and distractions as the hunt continued. The decoy trial worked well, as the four teams that were after me did not at all seem to be interested in harming the friends protecting me. Later, though, I found myself in a well-populated part of town, as 'MK's hulking frame approached me. I dropped the .38 and darted into the closest building, which happened to be a one-room schoolhouse, in session. I hid behind a desk and watched him enter. He looked right at me, approaching at a slow pace. I stood and pointed, shouting "HE HAS A GUN!" just as he pulled out a large .45 and squeezed two rounds off--one of them hitting a child next to me, the other round into the wall. Two police officers at the door leapt and tackled him, and I took the opportunity to get the hell out of there, and was relieved to see that my entourage of friends had killed the remainder of 'MK's team and commandeered their massive tractor-like war machine. I hopped on, grabbing a black pump-action 12 gauge from a rack of weapons, and we rode it out of town.
It'd make a great movie.
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