I got into a gunfight last night. At least, I think they were guns. They shot bullets or pellets or something, but apparently they also ran on 9-volt batteries... Anyway, it was a strange dream. I ran into this area that looked like some kind of cafeteria or rec room, armed with only a pistol, while people camped out behind chairs and pillars and the like were firing at me with semi-automatics. When the bullets hit, I felt that cold impact, the sting of being ripped apart, the chill of losing blood. It really felt like dying, or at least what I imagine dying would feel like.
Then I had to try it again. Like a video game - the whole scenario was reset back to its original tableau and I had to run the gamut anew. I failed on the second attempt, as well, still feeling the sensation of being pummeled with ammunition, still feeling that pulse-slowing feeling of death. And then I got a third try.
I made note of where my attackers were and where my safe spots were. I had an argument with a teammate (apparently there were teammates?) about which type of gun to use. I insisted that I needed only a sidearm, but the teammate insisted that I use some strange weapon that looked like a Super Soaker but sprayed a barrage of bullets. On this third attempt I made it through to the end, where a couch sat, which was apparently my objective.
I jumped over the couch and sprayed a salvo at my final attacker, who nonetheless got ever closer. Something about the battery in my weapon dying made my bullets dissipate into thin air before they could affect him. I explained what had happened, and apparently this was a good enough answer - he conceded that I had won.
The mood in this bizarre room changed. The people who'd been vigilantly guarding their posts trying to kill me were now mingling with drinks in their hand. Some of the people were familiar to me, others were strangers. One was my middle-school crush Amanda.
Back in middle school and parts of high school, I had it for her bad. This was infatuation bordering on obsession for a while. I haven't seen her in years, but it didn't strike me as unusual to see her there last night. She met my eyes, walked over, and sat sideways in my lap. I placed a hand on the small of her back like a familiar lover. She smiled. "I love your purple hair," I said. I think, but I can't be sure, that her hair hadn't been purple until I commented on it. She nestled up against me and kissed me. "What can I say?" She said. "I love that you know how to get things done."
I woke up in the strangest mood, feeling more tired than before I went to sleep.