I had a dream that I was in an office sitting at a desk. The second that I finished the thought, “This place is such a joke,” an explosion went off outside the window. Confused, my coworkers and I walked to the window to see what was going on. When we got within a step of the window, the tentative silence was split with bursts of gunfire. A few of my co-workers took off, but I stood for a few seconds trying to process what was happening.

As I backed away from the windows the gunfire started sounding like it was coming from the stairwells. I turned to run, and ducked down a back hall. Instantly, I realized that I was heading into, rather than away from, the gunfire. I looked to the right and saw two executives in a conference room. Knowing that the danger in the stairwell just ahead was close at hand, they looked at me and quietly closed the door. In a split second decision, I hit the ground flat, hoping that whoever came out of the stairwell in front of me wouldn’t notice, and I could run down it once they had turned down the main hall.

It was then that I felt a pistol at the back of my head.

“Not so funny now, is it funny man?”

It was more of a statement than a question.

Before I could get through the thought, “How can I possibly get out of th…”, I heard the shot.

I knew it was at my head. “Oh Shit,” I thought, “this is it.”

And everything went black.

A few moments later, I was approaching my desk, and everyone was asking me how I was. I was a little confused until I heard someone say I that had been in the hospital a long time. I reached up with my right hand and felt the bandages on my head. “Did anyone die?” I asked. “Yes, lots of people. But, you’re here.”

I sat down at my desk confused about how I had survived a shot that should’ve taken my head apart. And why couldn’t I remember anything about the hospital? I reached up with my left hand and touched the soft, round, scar tissue above my left eye. In a fit of anger, and confusion, I screamed, “FUCK!” and threw something stupid like a pencil against the wall and headed for the stairway. I had no idea why I had come back, but I wasn’t about to stay.

Walking down the stairs, I met a strange woman who didn’t seem sympathetic to me getting shot in the head, but her relaxing smile indicated that she liked being around me. She walked with me down to the lobby where I sat with her mixed crowd of friends. One took my bandage off because I wanted to see my head, but no one knew how to get it back on.

It was at that point that I started getting concerned that my head might fall apart.

I woke up touching my temple, relieved that I had a second chance, and concerned that I might be wasting my life.

Posted in Strange, Work