From my LJ Archive

Last night I dreamt the world had gone to pot. A post-apocalypse central London, power here and there, collapsed concrete buildings and burning rubble. I was looking for something, climbing through abandoned buildings. I found a person, a guard of some sort. Maybe for a group who’d set up their own authority. There was fighting, he had bladed knuckledusters with him and managed to gouge me in the back with the end of one. I had a samurai sword in my hand, but he was behind me. I had to stab him with it without him seeing me prepare to. So decided to run it through myself just above the collarbone, but below the muscle, and get him in the head as it came out. The shot went wrong, he saw it coming, and I think I just nicked him. Somehow I fought and killed him. I don’t think this was the first time in the dream I’d done such a thing.
I went to a window and was looking out onto a partially lit Picadily Circus, and a “make-up girl” came to tend to me. Like this was real, but also being filmed as a reality TV or movie. My shoulder wound had been stitched or glued, and so had my back.
I can feel the small bit of dried blood on my skin by my armpit, and the much larger amount that had run down my back, cracking and flaking as I moved. Even the ache in my muscles and stinging numbness from the wounds.
The weird thing is how good it felt. And yes, I was wearing a classic Bruce Willis white vest.

This has been the polar opposite of my usual fight dreams. Usually I get into a fight and my muscles become numb, heavy, I struggle to move or put any force into defence or attack. Here I was surviving, succeeding, strong.

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