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This started out as one of those silly-ish dreams, you know, running around with video game characters and stuff... then it got creepy. You see, this dream took place in the future, as if I was some kind of time traveler. Really the only difference is that people had to have tracking machines with all their info planted in one of their arms. Well, I was in this group that wanted to rebel against this government and we couldn't live long if we had these devices in us so thankfully we had a knife on hand and the only option we had was to ... dig them out, so to speak. My only moment of lucidness in this entire dream was I did NOT want my mind to be there when it was my turn. Really, it seems silly but there HAVE been times when I've felt pain in my dreams and seeing as how this dream was my reality now I didn't want to feel being stabbed and sewn back together or see any of the bloody stuff... so I didn't! It worked! But that was the only moment of lucidness I got.
My mind seemed to switch back and forth between myself and another guy we had on the team. There were 3 "normal people" like that on the team, myself, another girl who was basically exactly the same as me except maybe more girly, and a man on the team. My mind seemed to switch back and forth between myself and this man, until we were basically the same peron... the other girl vanished somewhere... or perhaps she transformed mid dream into this man since I don't remember him at the beggining of the dream.
This man though, he didn't add anything to the team. He was basically dead weight just waiting to be killed by the people trying to track us down and shooting and throwing flash bombs at us. But everyone wanted to keep him alive no matter what. He couldn't defend himself and he could barely run away when under attack (he'd be a goner without our encouragement)
The reason why was because this guy had PTSD. We all kind of got to enter his head because hey... dreams warp reality all the time. You see, when he was a kid his dad was a cop, and he saw this serial killer shoot him. But that's not all that happened. After maybe a brief year or two locked up he came back and killed his mother. (he wasn't there this time) Then he was attacked while out on a boat in a lake. He was picked up by an older guy in a boat but it was a long time getting to shore because they were going against these big waves instead of riding them. He would have bleed to death until finally a wave pushed them back to shore.
Seeing through his eyes now, the world is a blur, feeling faint as well... about to pass out or succumb to shock. Switches back and forth betwen 1st and 3rd person.
I forgot the first question, though it was something along the lines of being hurt, or having a fever... the answer was a muttered "all over" the second question was asking where it hurt. He said he was shot in his back. "No." the questioner said, before examining him further, telling him he was shot in his leg. When there was the revelation that he was stabbed in the back instead of shot. Though, don't want to let the guy know hat in present time because... he's suffered enough already. Sure enough upon lifting his shirt there was a small stab wound in his lower back.
Back to the present from this point out things were a lot worse for this guy. But we wanted him to live and stay with us, so we tried really hard to stick together.
Anyways, I can't remember how that dream ended, only that we were still on the run from attackers. Yeah we never found that safe place.
It's funny though that the setting was never really relevant and consisted entirely of places that I visit often. Namely, my own house, my own room, and a playground I like to visit and a trail I like to walk. The lake itself was a different place entirely that I couldn't recognize but that was to be expected, right? After all it was a flashback and probably a mix of many different lakes I've been to. The only time the setting mattered is when I went to my house I knew it was my house and grabbed all of my coats I could find so we could survive the winter.
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