Heros & Hostages

1/5/2013

I dream again.

It started out that I was eating at this restaurant.  It was like a green house - all screened in, many plants and vines, even mists and a small pool of water towards the back.  I think it was to look exotic, but it looked more redneckish.  It wasn't in a town I recognize, but if I had to guess what town it reminded me of, it reminded me of Savannah, GA.  I was sitting in one of the seats in the front, just right of the front door.  I was sitting next to another guy who looked like he was in his mid-20's.  We didn't know one another.  In fact it felt like a cafeteria at a school or a prison where no one really knew each other - they just sat to eat.  The tables were carved out of wood, and were like designer picnic tables.  As soon as I observed this, I lastly noticed how dim and ominous the room was, the guy next to me pulls out a small semi-automatic weapon, like in the movie Rambo.  He has it under the table, peering it between the seat and the table ready to aim.  More men in the back started firing their weapon as I could hear, and see sparks of light from the gun powder, but other than that I could only see shadows commotioning about.  It sounded like people were dying quickly ... there were no pauses of silence from the guns.  I look over to the right to the guy with the gun and he's waiting there patiently for people to come our way to try and escape the front door.  Suddenly I hear him to say to me, "you better use that thing!"  I was confused for a moment, but looked down and saw I had a gun in my hands too.  What?  I was apart of this?  How?  My mind was swamped with emotions.  To do it would be a thrill, but it was so wrong.  What would he do to me if I didn't shoot?  My morals were tested, and I was on the line.  "Get ready," he said, "they are coming."  As I watched people get closer, I had to think fast.  I stand up with the gun pointed right in front of me; a crowd is rushing towards the door.  I knew in my mind what I had to do.  I have my fingers on the trigger.  The mob of people were getting closer, I open the front door to let them escape.  For a brief moment, the light from the outside peered in, and I saw the men, probably about 5, with all the same guns gleaming right back at me and headed my way.  I'm like a zebra into the crowd I go unnoticed and scramble outside.  I left the gun up above my head and scream, "I led these people out!  Here's one gun that won't hurt anyone!"  I was chanting it waving the gun in the air.  One lady who I led out whispered to me, "You shouldn't be doing that.  They may take you down thinking you're one of the suspects."  Right as she said that, I hear an officer over the bullhorn say, "Drop your weapon."  I don't remember the details, but I know I wasn't deemed to be one of the shooters.  I wanted my bravery be recognized through the media, and reporters flocked to me to get the story.  But before I could get my story out, another reporter had another story and it was like a chain reaction, as they all moved from me to this 400 lbs guy.  His story is that weighing so much, he was able to get himself out without getting hurt.  The reporters thought it was miraculous - I thought, "is this what the world is coming to?"  Attention to the fat man, he selfishly saved himself, and how hard it must be.  I tried to continue to convince the reporters that bravery and sacrifice is much more of the story, but it was to no avail.  One woman reporter replied, "I'm sorry.  This is what the viewers want and we heed to that.  You're story is great, but it's yesterday's news."  Hours went by and the men still didn't come out of the restaurant.  The entire place was surrounded by law enforcement.  I saw through a couple window pains, how many lifeless bodies were on the ground, and maybe three people were still alive sitting there separated and lonely - probably as hostages.

Later in the dream I was at a house, undercover I presume with a husband and wife, who apparently have committed a crime.  I was the accomplice  they needed to commit to an order to be arrested.  But somehow the husband knew what I was up to and trapped me in his Florida room between the garage and the bathroom.  His wife sat there watching.  He huddled me together with her, although I don't know why, then I told them I was going to be sick.  I started to heave up gritty brown stuff - almost like feces.  I remember the husband remarking, "Uck!  I hate gritty."  Almost like he poisoned me to get sick to make some kind of a recipe.  I happened to wander into another room and saw an old man doing the same thing.  He looked like he's been enslaved here for awhile.  I didn't feel sick, just kept going  from one room to another getting this stuff out - embarrassed to be seen.  The last part of my dream is that I finally puked up enough, whatever it was, put it into my hand and strongly slapped it into the husband's hands as if to say "here you go, happy?"  I was exhausted.