War dreams

You might remember the last time I posted about having a dream on this blog, and guess what? I’ve had another. Names initialed to (somewhat) protect the innocent.

This time, I was a soldier in the military. I wore a uniform and a helmet and carried a gun, which I never got a very good look at. The enemy was the Nazis, because the enemy’s always the Nazis. I didn’t say this was entirely original.

The military that I saw was comprised entirely of people I knew, some of which I haven’t talked to in months or even years. Ryan N., who I haven’t seen since high school, was the leader of my squad. Brenna G. was there, along with people from high school and college both.

Here’s where things got interesting. I never did figure out how, but somehow people in the squad were turning into zombies. (I know, Nazis and zombies, this is just like video games, shut up.) Giles H. was the first to turn into a zombie, but he just kind of shambled around, and no one wanted to put him out of his misery.

It got to a point where we were tired of slowly backing away from him that someone started doing military chants, and the power of the entire group of people yelling was enough to—get this—de-zombie Giles. His skin turned back to a normal color, his injuries cleaned up, and he was back in fighting shape.

So we went forward, yelling at everyone we could, shooting Nazis (and some Nazi zombies, so presumably that’s where the zombie voodoo was coming from). I spent a lot of time saving Brenna, who seemed to inexplicably wander into danger a lot. One particular scene had me shooting two oncoming zombies before blasting the Nazi who was holding her around the neck right in the temple, a tricky shot at such a distance, and yelling, “Bullseye!” in response.

I think someone made fun of me for that comment but I didn’t care, I’d saved her and made a great shot.

Eventually we made it to some Nazi base, which was a very futuristic building, lots of transparent panes and green metal architecture, with strange helicopters and planes and even weapons stuffed in hallways and rooms in which they barely fit. Walking through the base was creepy, but resistance was almost nonexistent.

We continued until we reached a bizarre contraption: a sliding pole, like the ones firefighters use, but in the middle of a ten-yard-wide tube with only a small door entrance, and a thin metal slide, about a foot wide, wrapping around the pole from top to bottom. Thus the way to travel was to jump from the door, make it the sizable distance to the slide, and then hold the pole as you slid downward.

The fall was large enough that I got cold feet when it was my turn to jump and stood to the side, letting everyone else jump ahead. The last two left were two paratroopers, Crystal C. and Micheala K., who weren’t going down for whatever reason, so I talked to them for a few minutes. When it finally came time to jump, I had made it to the door and I don’t remember if I jumped or not before

I woke up, sweating. That was one of the most intense experiences I’ve ever had while unconscious. I went back to sleep hoping the story would continue and it never did.

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