izhilzha (izhilzha) wrote,

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I've never been a freedom fighter before....

Not even in a dream.

I've been having odd, and oddly realistic, dreams lately--it's very strange, but kind of fun, too.

Last night, I had a lengthy, detailed, dream. One of the ones where it feels like you're living through it in real time, rather than jumping from place to place or time to time. No quick transitions, and a ton of visual details, even some tactile details (VERY abnormal for my dreaming--and if I told you what exactly it was I was eating in the dream, I'd probably gross somebody out, so...).

I've never dreamed I was a freedom fighter. Also, I don't usually explore moral dilemmas in my dreams. I don't know if the cause is as simple as having watched "The Age of Steel" on Friday; or whether other thoughts finally gelled together, but here's the little I recall:

I had been newly hired, I'm guessing at a school or an office building connected to a school. It was all part of a plan--I would do my work (I recall being the awkward new worker, trying to find my way around the corridors, looking for the area to buy lunches), and meet up with others who were part of the Cause, and we would be in place to execute the plan when the time came. There were people I know from RL there, though no one I know well; also, at least one person from my current workplace. We had little meetings, figuring out who was who and what parts we would play in the plan (sooo detailed, if I could remember it all I'd have a novel on my hands). I remember coming into the building at night, and working with others to set up some kind of explosives in one of the lecture halls--I'm not sure if we were trying to assassinate someone or what.

Back at headquarters, after the whole mission, waiting for the actual effects to happen and be noticed, I remember walking outside (HQ was my childhood home, which was really weird) and seeing the five or six cars/vans we'd used. All the paint had been scraped or sanded off, leaving them bare, scarred metal--erasing our evidence.

And I overheard someone talking about the mission, saying that they'd mistaken the room and wired the lounge for the English teachers, instead. I was horrified; but there was nothing I could do, even if it was true.

Yeah, so what *is* the difference between a freedom fighter and a terrorist? *facepalm*
Tags: contemplative, dreams

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