Note: This was a dream of mine. I have this warning here because some visitors have thought my life had just gone to pot, when really they were only reading one of my crazy dreams. :)
I was in a large stone hall with very high ceilings. There were a lot of other people there, and a few of them were with me. A friend of mine had just bought a gun and she let me see it. She kept calling it a purse gun and it was in a leather case. I pulled it out of its case and looked it over before popping it open to load it. The ammo was stored in the curved bottom of it, and instead of bullets, it took little plastic cylinders that had fake lipstick tubes in them. I got it loaded and shot some things in the hall; it made a little popping noise with each shot. I went and found the lipstick cylinders so that they could be used again.
We were trying to get outside because there was a revenant from Doom 2 somewhere back in the building, which seemed kind of like an extensive cathedral, that was chasing us. We went into some antechamber, then outside, but the revenant was there. It would shoot rockets at us that seemed attracted to movement; if we just stood still, it might hit us, but if we moved, it almost definitely would. It shot at us and I yelled for people to drop flat, like I did; we weren’t hurt. To get back inside, though, we had to run. Some of us ran toward one side of the large double doors, and the others went to the other door. I guess this confused this revenant, because it didn’t hit any of us.
The dream shifted and I was in the parking lot of a grocery store. There was a large tour bus that held some team from Iowa; they were wearing purple and gold letter jackets. I asked if I could go along, but they wouldn’t let me. I grabbed hold of their back bumper, hoping to come anyway, but the driver started doing donuts and I got flung off. I rolled for a few feet, ending up behind a black Porsche. I stood up and wedged myself between the Porsche and the car next to it. Some boy came along and seemed really worried about me, because I was so banged up; I pretended to be hurt. He said he’d go get his mom, the owner of the Porsche, for help. He returned shortly and said he’d told her I had been beat up; “Is this true?” he asked me. “Pff, no,” I said and strolled off.
There was a large, dark van at the end of a row I was approaching that scared me. There were other vans like it, but they didn’t bother me; I just got a bad feeling from that one. I avoided it, instead heading toward a large, black man who was trying to steal a small green sports car. I asked if I could join him, but he was worried I would get him in trouble. He dove into the car and reversed, tires squealing. He then came for me, which I had known he would. He tried to run me over, but I jumped up at the last moment and landed on the roof of the car. He kept backing up and jerking the car around, trying to get me to fall off. I eventually did, but not before I stomped in the roof and managed to squash his head some, causing his eyes to bulge out. When I tumbled off the car, I began to run away. He got out and came after me, waving a gun and threatening to kill me. I stopped and let him shoot me in the chest; it was an unpleasant tickling sensation.
I was now bleeding everywhere, and the guy seemed shocked that I hadn’t died, so he ran off. I walked off through the parking lot again and found a bunch of girls sitting around a wrought iron table, like the kind you see in parks. They were talking and laughing but when I walked by, they got quiet and stared. “She really needs to clean up,” one of them said. As I walked around the table, I smeared my hand through the clotting blood on my chest and wiped it on the shirt front of the girl nearest me.
