I Died In My Dream

Monday, September 12, 2006 About 4:24 AM

My best friend grabbed the gun and shot me in the temple without hesitation. One shot and I was down hard on the ground. A few milliseconds of consciousness allowed me to see the gun being put down in front of me and I could hear my best friend saying “he wanted to clock out.” Tiredness and weakness took over me, my vision shut, and there I died.

I woke up in my bed from this very vivid dream just a couple of minutes ago. Relieved to be home, yet still hearing the echos of the gunshot rambling through my head.

I have understood that dying in a dream denotes a new life. A change into an entire different way of living. This will mark my third dream in my life where I’ve died.

After waking up from this dream I didn’t feel startled, scared, or any of the other emotions that I’ve felt on the other occasions where I’ve died in a dream.

This time I felt at peace, although relieved that it was only a dream. I felt that I already knew I was going through a metamorphosis in my life and this was my unconscious’s way of accepting that change.

The dream was very elaborate and it started a long time before its end. I interacted with many different people before I reached my tragic demise.

The reason I got killed during the dream was because I was standing in a line of about fifteen individuals that were street gambling. It was nighttime in a deserted parking lot area. I almost felt that I was in that line against my will.

About twenty feet away a dark maroon car was parked and inside there were two gang members. One, whom seem to be the wing man, came out and asked everyone to place their bets.

Everyone who would give the money was standing almost at a military attention stand. I was the first from the right. A fence separated us, the gamblers, from the gangster on the other side.

The wing man looks at me and I handed him twelve quarters to place my bet. It was all the money I had. He takes it and keeps walking to the next person in line, whom in the dream was my best friend and asks for the money to gamble as well.

He continued down the fence through the single file horizontal line asking everyone for the money. After he collects all of the cash, he walks back to the car and closes the door.

Apparently, they would roll the dice inside the car and then come back and pay the winner. None of us that put in the money to gamble would have confirmation of the actual numbers that were rolled. That’s how controlled, or actually, uncontrolled, from my point of view, this situation was.

A few moments later both of the fellows get out of the car. The obvious main guy walks by in front of our fence holding my quarters in his hand. He studies them over for a few moments and I get the gut feeling that it might not be a good thing.

He’s about a foot or two too far away for me to hear what he’s telling his wing man, but I can see that he seems upset and disrespected by the quarters. Almost as if he can’t believe someone would gamble with quarters. I’m not sure if the disrespect was because of the amount or the fact that those were coins.

He has a gun in his hand. It seems like a small chamber gun. That one was not his .45 caliber pistol that I saw him carrying earlier. It was definitively smaller.

He hands over the gun to my best friend so that he can shoot me. My best friend grabbed the gun and shot me in the temple without hesitation. One shot and I was down hard on the ground. A few milliseconds of consciousness allowed me to see the gun being put down in front of me and I could hear my best friend saying “he wanted to clock out.” Tiredness and weakness took over me, my vision shut, and there I died.

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