Last night I dreamt something I have never dreamt before, or at least not that I recall. I died in my dream. I can’t ever recall having a violent dream, but this was extremely violent. I was in some kind of public place, a museum or something with a bunch of other innocent people. Then, out of nowhere, these men with machine guns came in and began shooting. I watched as innocent people fell to the ground and became bathed in their own blood. But it was quick and there was only so much time for me to think. As their aim came closer to me, I realized I was about to die. One, two, three, and four bullets penetrated my body. I saw flashes of red. Everything slowed down and became quiet. It wasn’t at all painful. I knew this story was over, but that there was a much bigger picture than the life I was leaving behind. Everything was peaceful.
And then I woke up.
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