I am in a small house with my brother, stepdad and mom. It’s almost dinner time and I look out the window and see a turkey fighting a peacock. The turkey turns around to run and the peacock (in slow motion) rears up and bites the back half of the turkey’s head off. I am excited and run to tell my brother there’s a dead turkey outside. We go out and get it. Dream skips ahead to us cooking the turkey.
I am in a small living room type room. With Jack Bower (the man who coined the term “Say Yah to Dah U.P.”), some family members. There are members of my immediate family and some others who I don’t know that well. We are all sitting together, talking eating pie and drinking wine when two Native Americans (middle aged men with mesh hats, jeans and button-down shirts). Both of them have pistols.
They walk into the middle of the room, look around at all of us, one of them starts to say something like, “We don’t want to do this.” He raises his gun and shoots someone next to me sitting on the couch. The gun is silenced so it makes a slight thud. And red pours out from the fat guy sitting on the couch. The other guy is talking about something and some people in the room are going nuts crying, begging. I, somehow am able to let myself go, and accept my fate. The other guy raises his gun and waves it around and then shoots Jack in the heat, again, the gun only makes a slight thud.
Jack twists back in his chair, and I yell, “No! Jack! Jack!”
Then the two Natives start telling us something about they have to do this.
Then, the first shooter walks over to the first guy he shot, and lifts his head up. The Indian says, “you’re alive” or something. It turns out these guys has airsoft guns filled with fake blood capsules that exploded when they hit the skin. I lift up Jack and he is alright.