Goodness, I nearly forgot to write this one down:
I am with Ian and Lake, we are in the old West. The three of us are on horse, moving through a valley covered with dust, some dying trees that look like Methuselah trees. Ian is wearing a leather vest, brown cotton pants, and chaps. I am wearing something similar to that except I have on a cotton white shirt. Lake is wearing a brown leather riding suit. We look like cowboys. This may be the first dream I’ve had in a Western motif.
After a while of riding around the frontier, we decide to have a contest. A shooting contest. I have a 20g shotgun, Ian has his 30-30 1894 Winchester, Lake has his break-action 20g shotgun. So we spread out in a triangular position, each about 100 yards apart. The goal is to shoot each other down. Yes, believe it or not, we are having a shooting contest to see who is the last man standing. Somehow, this is all in good fun. We get to our positions and wave. Then we begin shooting. I get off my horse. Ian decides to stay on his horse while he shoots. I fire at him as he is aiming for me. I hear a bullet whiff past me from Lake’s direction, and I duck beneath a dry bush. Ian takes a shot, it misses. I shoot at Ian and it misses, I pump, and fire again hitting hit and knocking him off his horse. Then I get struck with two bullets at once. One slug hits my outer left-forearm. The other goes between by left arm and ribcage, slicing open my torso but not wounding me that bad. I am on the ground as I take another shot at Lake, hitting him in the butt.
The next part of the dream is the three of us sitting on a hill dressing each other’s wounds, laughing. Lake uses tweezers to pull a slug out of Ian’s right shoulder. This is terrible and painful, but for some reason, this dream has a lighthearted feel. Next it’s Ian’s turn to get the slug out of by forearm. It actually didn’t hurt that bad cause it didn’t go very far in. It leaves a circular black mark on my outer fore arm.
yeah… go figger.