Dreams are intense.
So...My dream last night was pretty kickass, for a Liz-dream. It started out with my nana, my mom, and me suddenly dropping into a giant war zone. We were in some make-believe land that my mind created that consisted of five nations...and two of those nations were fighting. We were from one of the nations that were fighting, but it was like...we didn't know how or why we suddenly got caught up in the war area. Well, the other nation sneak-attacked us by disguising themselves to look like us, so we thought they were friendlies until they started shooting everyone in sight. The trouble was, it was like, my nana, mom and I were with a bunch of other civilians, and there weren't any soldiers on our side in sight. So basically it was the other side massacring us. And in my dream, I'm thinking, "Oh shit, we're really gonna die." my adrenaline pumping as I stare down this guy with a rifle who is just about to shoot us. Then, luckily for us, some soldier on the other side happened to not be paying attention, and walked into me. I grabbed his gun and shot him. My mom and my nana were behind me against a concrete wall, and I back up and crouch down in front of them almost like a shield, shooting any soldiers that turn to kill us.
Eventually, I run out of bullets and stare at yet another soldier, in the same place as the first, this time with a machine gun pointed at us. I think, "Well, this is it," and wonder quickly how we got caught up in this, how absurd it is to really be looking at the face of death right this moment. I couldn't believe any way I could escape it, but I couldn't believe we were really going to die either. And as the soldier began shooting us with his machine gun, our soldiers finally got there and forced the other nation back.
After the battle, they take what's left of us to some camp, where they put some refugees on a plane out of the war zone. As my mom, nana and I were put on the plane, a soldier commented to me about how lucky we were to be getting out of here, like maybe it was difficult to be getting on a plane to leave for safety, but to me, it was almost automatic. We didn't do anything, they just put us there. I was more worried about making the flight to safety, because didn't people usually die in planes during wars?
The rest of the dream has turned itself to mud, but it had two parts more. It included the plane flight to safety, and me somehow getting more involved in the war and finding myself yet again on the battlefield, with other distinct characters making themselves known throughout it too. They have some significance, though what and how I do not remember.
I do remember now however, a moment at the beginning, with my mom, nana and I walking around the war zone. We saw some of our soldiers hiding, waiting to attack or defend. I remember this sense of futility, like we were all doomed, we were all going to die...yet despite the futility of it all, everyone was still going to do every single thing they could to go and fight for their very lives, and the last thing on our minds was to give up, like maybe there was collective some meaning to it in our minds, even though we knew war was futile. But among those soldiers was my brother, holding a rifle, dressed in light blue, with his patches on his arms and his adornments on his left pocket, clean-shaven, concentrating on the task at hand. And when I saw him, I thought, "Troy!" with a sharp pain in my heart and in my gut, and I pulled out my cameraphone, to take a picture of him, because I was so incredibly pained by the reality that this would probably be the last time I saw him alive, because he was as caught up in the futility and determination of it all as the rest of everyone there. I ended up taking four or five pictures of him, because I couldn't quite get the one I wanted, frustrating him a little (like always) in the process. It was a somber moment, and the calm before the storm of the massacre that followed.
Eventually, I run out of bullets and stare at yet another soldier, in the same place as the first, this time with a machine gun pointed at us. I think, "Well, this is it," and wonder quickly how we got caught up in this, how absurd it is to really be looking at the face of death right this moment. I couldn't believe any way I could escape it, but I couldn't believe we were really going to die either. And as the soldier began shooting us with his machine gun, our soldiers finally got there and forced the other nation back.
After the battle, they take what's left of us to some camp, where they put some refugees on a plane out of the war zone. As my mom, nana and I were put on the plane, a soldier commented to me about how lucky we were to be getting out of here, like maybe it was difficult to be getting on a plane to leave for safety, but to me, it was almost automatic. We didn't do anything, they just put us there. I was more worried about making the flight to safety, because didn't people usually die in planes during wars?
The rest of the dream has turned itself to mud, but it had two parts more. It included the plane flight to safety, and me somehow getting more involved in the war and finding myself yet again on the battlefield, with other distinct characters making themselves known throughout it too. They have some significance, though what and how I do not remember.
I do remember now however, a moment at the beginning, with my mom, nana and I walking around the war zone. We saw some of our soldiers hiding, waiting to attack or defend. I remember this sense of futility, like we were all doomed, we were all going to die...yet despite the futility of it all, everyone was still going to do every single thing they could to go and fight for their very lives, and the last thing on our minds was to give up, like maybe there was collective some meaning to it in our minds, even though we knew war was futile. But among those soldiers was my brother, holding a rifle, dressed in light blue, with his patches on his arms and his adornments on his left pocket, clean-shaven, concentrating on the task at hand. And when I saw him, I thought, "Troy!" with a sharp pain in my heart and in my gut, and I pulled out my cameraphone, to take a picture of him, because I was so incredibly pained by the reality that this would probably be the last time I saw him alive, because he was as caught up in the futility and determination of it all as the rest of everyone there. I ended up taking four or five pictures of him, because I couldn't quite get the one I wanted, frustrating him a little (like always) in the process. It was a somber moment, and the calm before the storm of the massacre that followed.