The Dubious Gift of Indiscriminate Capping

A thoroughly gory and violent dream with matrix/superhero elements, and a very clear moral message, obviously due to the fact that I had been writing the Morrigan’s origin story for the Elusory Edge the day before, and that I had been reading Jekyll & Hyde before I went to bed.

It began with going back to work at GD, riding in the car with my dad. I was a little muddled, and had forgotten some things and had to rush to get out the door. But as usual with dream GDs, when we got there it was a wierd pseudo-GD where I had nothing to do, which promptly fell apart into a towering semi-futuristic city crowded with people, a large proportion of whom seemed to have guns.

Some disembodied superior being bestowed upon me and my fellow resistance fighters a nebulous and soon-to-be obviously allegorical ‘gift’. He didn’t say what it was at first, but it seemed clear enough that it was some kind of time-slowing, physics-bending, ass-kicking power, with a little bit of zombie voodoo magic brewed in. We resistance fighters now had the dubious advantage of being able to cap as many people as we damn well pleased without actually killing anyone or reducing the numbers of our foes, because despite the bullets in their skulls they would only perpetuate as the living dead. We soon caught on to this, and started capping our own people so that they could not be killed. A clever idea, sure, but that of course got out of hand and soon it seemed everyone in the whole city had a beretta with a sticky trigger (mine sure did) with which they were trying vainly to lay out everybody else. Add to this the complication that many of the original resistance fighters had acquired through practise the standard dream power of clumsy flight, and at the same time a deep-seated resentment of their fellow resistance fighters who had tried to cap them early on to give them the gift of living death.

It was at about this point that the moral lesson of the disembodied superior being finally dawned on me. His gift was not a gift at all, but a punishment. In a manner of minutes, in our idiotic knee-jerk reaction to violence with violence, we had turned a perfectly pleasant distopian future into a living hell. Well, I wasn’t about to let this lesson go un-learned. So I voiced aloud my realization, threw down my gun, and made as if to flee by flight. Those around me, however, shouted aloud to me that I couldn’t fly; it was all just a part of the superior being’s trick. Apparently I had convinced them, but only partially, not having managed to impress upon them the main point of my realization, which was non-violence. They grabbed onto my legs and started dragging me down, and bam! The dream shifted lickety split.

Now I was in another part of the city, a deserted part, heavily damaged by the fighting, with two girls clad in red and black leather superhero outfits. There was a big group of people just around the bend from us (it seemed like a highway off-ramp, but completely deserted of cars), also clad in superhero outfits, but still deluded and following their murderous ultra-violent tendencies. Our goal was to negotiate peacefully with these people, and show them the error of their ways. Of course, our selflessness backfired, as they just took us for their enemies, and capped one of the girls, starting another mini-riot. The other girl and I flew off into the apocalyptic sunset, just as if we had been sucessful in our superheroing and were getting our romantical fade-out, instead of having been utter failures.

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