Nightmare
I don't know if I've ever experienced my own death before, but this time, B. and I go on a bike ride, park by a flea market in Berkely on a lawn, and have lunch or something. We return outside hours later at sunset to find the grass abandoned of flea market, our bikes missing or confiscated, and we both stand around in consternation trying to decide what to do. As dusk approaches, a police officer pulls up on a motorcycle on the sidewalk below, holding back a white wolf-hound contorted with violent snarls on a leash. We know he is coming to give us a ticket enforcing a stupid rule about not being in the park after sunset, and we try to sneak away another direction, but he changes course simultaneously and we understand that running will only make this man angry, so we wait uncomfortably.
When he approaches, we begin to tell him how our bikes are missing, and he listens, but tells us how we are breaking the rules, and the tone in his voice grows more and more disrespectful, and his demeanor becomes increasingly like the liquid Terminator in the movie. His vicious dog stands utterly calm and awaiting command. B. and I are both outraged as he steals our dignity away, and I feel more and and more driven to make sarcastic comments like I would to a pretentious friend to get through his icy authority anyway, and my driven eventually morphs into snivelling, and B. and I both start to bat at his hands until it seems like we have become whining dogs, and my hand almost become a paw- so that when I bat at his hand to get his attention a final time, I miss and accidentally brush his gun. He draws back and I raise up my hands fearfully, but he draws and shoots anyway, cackling evilly, yelling "You're done!" and I feel the bullet whiz past my stomach. I turn and begin to run from this demented figure, and after about five steps, I realize that the bullet went right through me, I feel my life energy drain away rapidly, and fall towards the ground while I hear B. screaming, at which point I wake up.
(I didn't mind being shot so much since I knew it was a dream, and it kind of made my life feel precious in contrast to the awful scene.)
When he approaches, we begin to tell him how our bikes are missing, and he listens, but tells us how we are breaking the rules, and the tone in his voice grows more and more disrespectful, and his demeanor becomes increasingly like the liquid Terminator in the movie. His vicious dog stands utterly calm and awaiting command. B. and I are both outraged as he steals our dignity away, and I feel more and and more driven to make sarcastic comments like I would to a pretentious friend to get through his icy authority anyway, and my driven eventually morphs into snivelling, and B. and I both start to bat at his hands until it seems like we have become whining dogs, and my hand almost become a paw- so that when I bat at his hand to get his attention a final time, I miss and accidentally brush his gun. He draws back and I raise up my hands fearfully, but he draws and shoots anyway, cackling evilly, yelling "You're done!" and I feel the bullet whiz past my stomach. I turn and begin to run from this demented figure, and after about five steps, I realize that the bullet went right through me, I feel my life energy drain away rapidly, and fall towards the ground while I hear B. screaming, at which point I wake up.
(I didn't mind being shot so much since I knew it was a dream, and it kind of made my life feel precious in contrast to the awful scene.)