Rated PG-13 for Violence

Do you ever have a dream that you just can't shake? You wake up in the morning and realize it was just a dream, but still for that whole day you've got the dream running around in the back of your head?

WELL. It happens to me. And last night's dream was particularly terrifying, so now every time I hear a loud noise I think I'm about to get shot.

Let me explain:

I was at school. Not Springville High, I could tell, but someplace in Germany or England. Not current either, because it was dark and smokey kind of how London looks in Mary Poppins. I was at school, but I wasn't in class. I was with a secret organization, working on a secret project that would save our dying world.

There were those who opposed us, we knew. But we never realized just how many they were, or what lengths they would go to in order to stop us.

We returned to our lab one day and discovered that one of our enemies had been here, and had stolen valuable and dangerous equipment. Knowing that our location had been compromised, we gathered as many items as we could - hoping to continue our research - and tried to flee the school before our enemies returned for us.

But they were already there.

As soon as we entered the hall, we realized just how much trouble we were in. The students of the school were sprinting for the doors, the hall a mass of chaos amid terrified screams. I saw why they were screaming almost immediately. Gunmen. EVERYWHERE.

Our group disbanded as we all took off in opposite directions, listening to the bullets ricocheting off the wall behind us. My heart was pounding as I sprinted through the crowd, my classmates dropping like flies around me, the rancid smell of gore in the air. There were so many gunmen! At least five in this one hall! I ducked my head as I ran, a pathetic attempt to dodge the bullets I could hear whizzing past me. I screamed with the rest of the students as I ran, ran faster than I'd ever run before, trying to outrun death itself.

I could describe the endless chase scenes and shoot-ups, but I won't. Needless to say, we were slaughtered. We had no means of defending ourselves, nowhere to hide. Yet, somehow, when the shooting stopped - I never knew the cause - Nearly half of the school's students lay dead. Countless more were injured.

We gathered everyone into the alley outside the school. Everyone who was still standing, and there were so very few. I was sobbing as the teachers shuffled me along with the rest. When we'd gotten outside, I saw the old man who ran the train that brought us here every day. His name was Tim, and I was friends with him. When I saw him I ran to him, burying my wet face into his shoulder as I cried. He held me, and the look on his face said that he knew what had happened. "They're dead," I whispered. "So many of them. I thought we'd all be killed. They had guns. So many . . . "

Tim talked to one of the administrators - there were few left standing - and suggested that he could ferry us all home on the train. Since we had no idea what had stopped the shooting, however, we all realized that we were still in imminent danger. The remaining students nearly trampled each other trying to get on the train. One of the teachers stopped us, saying that we were going to have to do this fairly. He found a list of the students, and started calling us up in alphabetical order.

When one girl stepped forward, Tim stood with his eyes wide and teary. "Anna," He said. I knew Tim well, and I realized that this must be his long-lost daughter, the girl he hadn't seen in years, his only reason for living. He gathered his daughter into his arms in a tender reunion, then gently pushed her onto the train and closed the door. He walked to the teacher who had been calling roll. I watched, confused as to what he was doing. He still had a huge smile on his face as he said, "I'm sorry, Sir, but my train is full." He pulled a gun out of his pocket and shot the teacher in the head.

Suddenly it was all back. The remaining students screamed in terror as they realized that the adults surrounding them all had guns. The shooting hadn't stopped. It had only been postponed so that Tim could retrieve his daughter. I stood frozen to the spot as this realization slowly worked its way into my head. I glanced up at Tim and, for a moment, was still so confused that I didn't understand at first when he pointed the gun into my face. Thankfully, my body realized what was going on before my brain did, and I flinched out of the way, the bullet missing me by centimeters.

I ran. Ducking and dodging and trying desperately to block out the sounds of the massacre echoing through the alley. In my haste I failed to notice a stairwell and I tumbled down it into the blackness below. Another alley, with very little light. I stood again, and listened in horror to the sound of footsteps chasing after me.

These gunmen wanted nothing. That much was plain. They didn't want money, or information, or hostages. All they wanted was to kill us all. So I had no bargaining chip. As soon as the men made their way down here - A few refugee students had joined me, now, so the gunmen couldn't be far behind - they would find me, and they would kill me. And there was nothing I could do about it.

Then an idea hit me. The last idea. My only chance. They would not bother to kill me if they thought I was already dead.

I had cut my face as I'd fallen down the stone steps, and now I wiped the blood around, trying to make myself look as wounded as possible. I sprawled out on the ground, forcing my breath to come in quick, shallow, silent bursts. I was terrified by how much my chest moved when I breathed. I lay still as possible. The shouting in the tunnel was now the angry swearing of the gunmen. I heard more shots and students desperately running for cover. I could only hope that the students still running for their lives would be enough distraction that the gunmen wouldn't bother to check if I was alive. The darkness was thick, and I thought that if the gunmen spared me just a short glance they would believe me to be dead. I felt the pounding pavement as the gunmen came closer. I closed my eyes and prayed for mercy.

...And that's when I woke up. I laid in bed for the longest time, trying to lie still as possible so I could pass for a dead person, before I realized that I was no longer in that dark alleyway. When I finally came to my senses, I gasped and sat upright, wrapping my arms tightly around my knees. I was afraid to move. I couldn't shake the feeling that if I didn't hold still they would find me and blast my brains all over the pavement. This was worse than a school shooting. This was war. This was a massacre.

And I could not fully convince myself that it had not been real.