For those of you who don’t know, I absolutely hate to dream. Dreaming itself doesn’t bother me but the fact that deja vu can happen does bothering me. In my past experiences, when I experience deja vu something really bad happens soon thereafter. Therefore, now when I have those moments of deja vu (which don’t occur often because I have trained myself for the most part not to dream), I immediately panic and do whatever it takes to get myself out of the situation.
Weird. I know.
In my lifetime there is only one dream that I have had that I clearly remember. I’m convinced it’s how I’m going to die, which is going to really suck because I don’t want to drown.
However, last night I had a dream that perplexes me more than it terrifies me. I don’t remember much but I remember feeling everything in the dream.
I walked into this place with someone, a male I think, about midday. The room had a long wall on the left with a huge stone fireplace. The fireplace was gray stone and big enough to fit a person inside. On the right there was a large picture window on the same wall as the door. A brown leather sofa and a small brown wood coffee table sat facing the window. An animal hid covered the floor. There was a 12 point buck mounted on the wall facing the fireplace. Just beyond the small living area, there was a small bar in the left hand corner. The room had a high ceiling like most hunting lodges do and wood flooring.
I walked in, with what purpose I don’t know, but I never made it past the sofa. A lady yelled something, pulled out her gun and shot the person that came with me. She fired off a second round at me, missing, and I hit the deck. The two men that she was with began to exit. She was speaking to me. I looked up at her. She raised her gun, pointed at my face and pulled the trigger.
She missed my face but caught me in the fleshy part of my neck on the left side of my body. I felt the warmth of the bullet rocketing into my skin. I felt it pierce my skin like a hot butter knife. Surprisingly, it was uncomfortable, but not all that painful. Shock is what I can chalk it off to.
I flopped my head on the ground. Overcome with shock, I lay there motionless with the cool floor pressing against my cheek. It was the only thing that kept my conscience. My mind was racing. I had been shot. It didn’t hurt. I couldn’t tell if I was bleeding, but rationally I should be. My breathing was shallow. Why had this woman aimed to kill?
I snapped back into the room. The woman was now yelled at one of her male friends. I laid very still. Fearfully to move only because she would kill me. The yelling continued on. When the argument did stop, the woman shot me one more time, for good measure I suppose. The bullet hit me at the base of my neck. That warm feeling flowed into my body and filled my head with an undescribable warmth covered in gold. I went out like a light.
But I didn’t stay out. I came back. It was late afternoon. The sun was setting in the distance and the cold floor was burning my cheek. I lay there for a few minutes in disbelieve. She shot me twice. Why was I still here? Overcome with shock, I finally told myself I had to get help. I didn’t feeling anything. I knew my body was in shock, and if I lay there in my own shock I was going to die.
I pushed myself off the floor onto my knees. Nothing happened. Amazing. I looked down and a fear rose from the deepest pit of my stomach. I was covered in blood. This is not good. I’m alone in the wilderness with a dead body. I have lost a large amount of blood and I have no idea where I am.
Time to move. I slow got to my feet. The room started to spin. I forced my eyes to focus and willed my feet to move. I felt like a huge drunken bastard stumbling along, grasping to everything that I could stay on my feet.
Off to the right of the bar was a set of glass french doors. Beyond the doors I could see a desk with a computer and a phone. A phone! Filled with panic and desperation I lunged myself toward the office. I managed to walk, unsupported, the six steps to the french doors. I hit my knees. My vision was starting to go. I couldn’t hear anything but my raspy shallow breathing.
I kept looking at the phone. There is was just sitting on the corner of the desk a mere 3 feet away, and I could not move. Then I got pissed. There was no fucking way that I was going to not reach that phone. I had been shot twice, and I was not going to fucking die on my knees 3 feet away from being saved.
I crawled, or attempted to. My legs would not work at all. I drug myself to the desk. I ripped the phone off the desk by its cord. I punched out 911 on the dial pad. I heard a cool female voice come over the line.
I felt hands grab me around my arms and turn me, probing me up against the desk. It was a man. I wore panic on my face and I knew I was completely helpless. I stared at him speechless.
I heard a great booming voice.
“It’s ok. You’re ok. I’m going to help you.”
I smiled weakly, let the phone receiver fall from my hand, and only saw blackness.