terrorists 1 - mindlessmunkey 0

~dream diary~

We are at some sort of school camp. There is a huge dorm filled with bunks. It is night. Dame Snazzlepops and I are sleeping on two top-bunks, pushed right up together to make a double-bed. The other beds are occupied by various people - mostly young guys and girls I don't recognise - apart from the one nearest to Snaz and I, where Mr David Beekeeper is sitting chatting to us. The dorm is filled with rowdy activity, as the young campers talk loudly, run from bed to bed and make-out with their partners.

A teacher comes in to quiet us down. I respect him; he is a good teacher and a nice guy. He begins to walk around the dorm, giving out Bibles. He is disappointed with our rowdy behaviour, so he is giving everyone two thick black leather-bound volumes - The Old and New Testaments - for us to read and learn how to behave. All the kids accept the Bibles, though they clearly have no intention of reading them. The teacher gets to my bed and hands me copies of The Good Book. I don't want to cause trouble with this teacher, but I refuse to sit here and pretend. I push the Bibles from my bed. They fall from the top bunk to the floor with an echoing slap. Silence falls in the dorm.

The next morning, we have a final assembly in the camp hall. No-one else is aware, but Snazzles and I know that there is going to be a terrorist attack as soon as the assembly ends. Mexican Muslims (who else?!) are going to storm the premises, and kids are going to be shot. We this as if we've already seen it on the news; as if it's a movie whose ending we already know. When we are dismissed, and told to go back to our dorms to pack up, Snazzles lingers in the foyer - the place we know the attack will begin - to buy a newspaper from a kiosk. We have to get out of here! The terrorists will be here any second! Snazzles and I run from the foyer area, back towards our dorm, where we can hide. But we get separated. I become lost, wandering the richly-decorated halls of this huge place. Suddenly I realise that the hallway I'm in - decked out with red velvet drapery and dark mahogany furnishings - lies directly adjacent to the assembly hall. Panic seizes me. In trying to find a safe place to hide, I have inadvertantly stumbled into the very path of the gunmen.

Suddenly, as I attempt to hurry across a walkway, one of the Mexican Muslims appears before me. He is resplendantly dressed in black robes and a crimson head-scarf. He says some words (which I can't remember) and raises a large gun. As always, when facing death in a dream, I meet my end with quiet dignity and a perfectly relaxed mind. The gunman fires. I feel an explosive pain in my upper chest, travelling through to my shoulder-blade. He fires again and again.

I am dead, but I am still wandering; still watching. Though the attack is now over, the camp is in a state of shock and grief, as news spreads of the shootings. In my dorm, Snazzles is numbly weeping as she struggles to pack up my belongings. I want to help her, but I can't.

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