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From what I remember of it—

I had the strangest dream last night/this morning…I was a freedom fighter trying to keep my family safe. Since my hands were dry and ashy, and since it was desert hot out, we must’ve been located somewhere in the Southwest. I was moving my family between administrative buildings of a school that looked something like the Kremlin while the city/countryside around me was being bombed by people who looked Mexican and spoke Spanish and Arabic. I was armed with an M-16, some pistol, and a knife, and had wild eyes every time another bomb from a Mexican UFO-looking thing hit the ground.

I just wanted to protect my family.

My mom was crying and my dad had little sanity left. My brother and sister were sick or otherwise unable to fight, so they stayed covered in sarapes and helped me watch corners and look for cover.

We came into this open field that might’ve been used as a soccer pitch at one time but had been perverted into an execution ground. The dead and dying lay on the edges of the field near the walls of the Kremlin-looking building where their executioners had done/were doing their grisly deeds, some still moving, others waiting for the final blow of a knife or bullet to silence their weak sobs. Some little piece of earth-love inside me wanted to roll around in the lush grass that had not been cut in so many years, but I could not succumb to its tiny voice; I had to keep my family safe.

In one corner of the field, a man was holding a woman by the hair and screaming at her, threatening her life with a knife if she did not acquiesce to his demands.

I had had enough. I sighted down the black barrel of my weapon and pulled the trigger twice.

He crumpled to the floor and she started screaming because she didn’t know what else to do.

M-16s don’t kick much, but they make a hell of a report. I knew that by taking out the one trespasser, I would bring bad attention to myself and my family…and sure enough, they came yelling from the surrounding buildings, armed with knives and slashing short swords. I had the advantage in ranged weaponry, but I was running low on ammo and was trying to keep my brother from going after them with his bare hands vs. a blade through the ribs.

They circled around us, giving us a 10-foot buffer…there were twenty of them vs. five of us.

We were vastly outnumbered, and their knives would beat the few bullets I’d unleash in the span of time it took them to rush us. I started to feel the strange detached feeling some soldiers note after they’ve been shot or otherwise wounded…and I prepared myself to die.

Then I woke up.

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