We are in a Spanish mission. At least, that is where I think we are.
We're trying to get away from them and are climbing up the inside of a tower in the mission.
We are way high up there, and with only inch of wood to hold ourselves up by, it's getting pretty hard. We can hear 'them' coming up after us. They are firing off random shots, hoping to hit something--someone.
All of a sudden, my friend slips, and falls, screaming. The sound echoes even after it is cut off by the sound of her body hitting the rough wooden floor.
I climb even faster. I can see Them getting closer, closer
But I make a mistake, stretch too far. I slip, just like my friend, and fall. I feel the air swishing past my face, and freefall into the shadows.
I wake up in the garage.
There are no cars in it, however, but I see that it is not entirely empty.
Here is where the dream differs. Usually the garage is filled with cans of soup, or scattered machine parts.
This time is different.
In one solitary corner of the upper garage, there is a thin plastic curtain, splattered with what looks like, what smells like blood.
Unable to control myself, I move toward the curtain, bare feet against the concrete floor.
I pull aside the curtain, revealing the cold metal gurney and sharp metal instruments of a surgeon, or a coroner. I don't stop to wonder which one it could be. my nightgown, torn and soiled, swishes about my feet as I turn towards the door.
It is blocked. Someone, one of Them, is standing in the frail doorway, pointing a shotgun at…me.
I smiled, and moved towards him. Frightened, He fires off three shots.
Here is another part of my dream that is almost always different. Sometimes, the shots penetrate, and I watch petrified as crimson blood seeps through my scant clothing and drips slowly to the floor. Other times, the shots go through me like Jell-O, barely leaving a mark.
This time….This time the shots bounce off me. I don’t even feel them. I scream. What have they done to me? This is all their fault!!!
And they must pay.