Tag: guns

The Ceremony Made Me Cry BTW

Posted on by Decade Dream Journal

I dream that I walk into the living room and find my family decorating the Christmas tree. I’m sure it’s summer so I must be dreaming. I start to panic because if I’m asleep I’ll miss the Olympics opening ceremony, and I won’t be able to go to the pharmacy either. I decide to jump out the window, hoping the shock will wake me up. It’s night outside, and I land on a layer of snow; I don’t feel cold at all though, I don’t feel anything. People are pointing and laughing at me from windows and balconies. I spot a man holding a rifle and beg him to shoot me. He fires three times, I don’t know if I’m hit because I still can’t feel anything. I wander into the streets and grab people by the shoulders, begging them to wake me up because I need to go to the pharmacy. They ignore me.

It takes several tries of waking up in my bed only to realize it’s not real, but I finally make it out.

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Dreams Are Like, Now You’re Staying At Gran’s, Now You Survive A Mass Shooting, Now You’re Eating Cake

Posted on by Decade Dream Journal

I dream that I’m with a friend trying on clothes in a store. A man with a gun comes in, starts shooting. My friend shoves me inside a dressing rooms, tells me to hide. She is shot and killed, the right side of her face is caked in blood. I cower on the dressing room floor, I know the man is looking for me, but somehow he doesn’t spot me.

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I Wasn’t Anywhere Near This, Not Even Watching From A Screen

Posted on by Decade Dream Journal

I dream about a young man, a butler maybe, who has just murdered the old lord he works for. He leaves the manor with no rush, it’s a Saturday and he knows the gardener won’t be back to discover the body until Monday. He goes home and carefully plans his escape along with his girlfriend. On Monday morning, they drive away in the fog. A young detective arrives too late and find their house empty. He wears thick glasses and his face is calm, emotionless.

Years pass. The murdered and his girl are now married, they’re currently on a tour bus. Around them, people are singing church songs and clapping to the music. A car flanks the bus, it’s the detective, now with a balding head and a mustache. Police swarm the bus, they arrest the murderer, drag him away. As the other passengers protest, the detective looks up at them from the car window, and very calmly states,

Don’t worry about it. He shot a man in the head.

Nobody seems to notice the wife, nobody arrests her. She goes on to live her life and raise her kids, scot-free.

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Bloody Magazines

Posted on by Decade Dream Journal

I walk inside a newsstand and browse through the magazines. I want to pick something interesting (Wired, maybe?) and buy every issue starting today. January 2020 is a good date to start building a collection, right?

(Photo by Hatice Yardım on Unsplash)

While I’m still browsing, an immigrant walks into the store, he pays in cash and stands in front of the register waiting for his change. The owner smiles a wicked smile and plays with the five bucks in his hand. He says he doesn’t think he’s gonna give the man his money today.

Now, IRL I’ve promised myself to be more assertive and speak up, so speak up I do. I take a deep breath and say out loud,

Give this man his change or I’ll call the police.

I start rummaging through my bag for my cell phone. The store owner whips out a tiny gun, smaller than his fist, and points it directly at me. He orders to put down the phone. I grab his hand and after a struggle I take the gun away from him. He produces another one identical to the first and I run to hide behind a door. A shootout ensues, and I finally wound him and call the police.

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