When my dream started, I was looking at pictures in a newspaper article of a girl covered in blood. She was crawling on the ground, half bent over, with blood pouring from her mouth and covering her eyes and nose. A man was chasing after her, beating her down with a long bladed knife. As I was being read the article by an enthusiastic, high pitched male voice, a doctor was wrapping my chest in white cotton bandages. The man reading the article was telling me about the incident related to the picture I saw and I soon caught on that I was the girl being stabbed. The man had come into my room while I was sleeping and though I don't remember anything, I had the wounds all over my body to prove that I was the recipient of over 20 gaping knife stabs. The article ended by saying that the victim (myself) died within a day after the attack. However, the article was only just written. I seemed to be the only one affected by the prediction that I was to die of my wounds within a few hours. The doctor told me that I had lost a lot of blood and that I would feel better in a few days and to replace the bandages regularly, although there were no stitches.
After resting for the remainder of the day, my family took me with them to a show downtown. The city was full of lights and we parked in a huge parking structure. Once we parked, I didn't feel so well and decided that I was going to walk home instead of going to the show. My family said they would meet me at home after. I stumbled down the ramps of the parking structure in what seemed like hours and somehow made my way back to our house. It had flooded and the ditches along the road were filled four foot deep with running water. I slipped as I was walking up our driveway and fell into the ditch. My jeans were ripped and shredded on the right leg and I was soaking wet, cold, sore, and muddy. After gingerly crawling into the house I attempted to change into some dry clothes. Blood had seeped through my bandages and was making my clothes stick to me. The wound that was bleeding the most was a gash running horizontally on my left side, just below my arm and stretching a quarter of the way around my body. As I unwrapped the length of bandage, I felt the hole in my chest, where my heart should have been, fill first with air and then blood as the opening gaped to about three inches. I was wondering why I had not gotten stitches, why I was not at a hospital, and why no one seemed to care, or even realize that I was dying.