A woman had just set another woman on fire in a hand-to-hand combat tournament I participated in on a tropical island at night. The fire starter who was screaming to tears accused the burning woman of being un-American because of the other’s rallying for Mexican people’s rights following the US military’s failed response to a bloody border skirmish where woman 1 lost a brother.
In the tourney, we weren’t supposed to have weapons, but we all watched in disbelief standing in a circle as woman 1 first doused the other with a liquid, then hit her with a lit torch. Will Smith was also one of the fighters.
Dream 2
Another dream I was en route to my third deployment in a year. I was packed light and getting some sleep on a sofa in a cargo area of a C-something plane. I don’t know why there was a couch, but also there was a love seat of similar brown leather where I put my stuff. Intuitively, I knew no one else was boarding.
I arrived at location in Somewhere, America to travel by bread truck. The driver eventually told me the cabin area had it’s own a/c and pointed to the controls. He must’ve sensed I was hot back there. I should mention that in real life, I was sleeping with a sheet and blanket over my head — snorkel mode with the hose of the CPAP machine.
The truck took on some laser fire — well, laser sights from small arms weapons began targeting the truck — on a narrow one-way street. I decided to get out and go the rest of the way on my own. Bread truck seemed too big of a target.
Dream 3?
Then, I was at a familiar area of a Fort Walton Beach beach (I’m not clear if this dream was part of bread truck dream or not, but I have no recollection of a transition). I wanted to do a flyover and see who was who and what was poppin out there, per se, on this bright sunny day.
I literally flew – more like floated – just above power lines, waving at basics in bikinis and so forth. Near buildings and a boardwalk. No one seemed surprised I was flying.
At sundown, I made it to the end of the beach to an area where Women of the Night were also enjoying the beach. As I floated close enough to make out details, I realized I was only interested in finding Remy LaCroix among the kind Entreprenuers.
I was unlucky in finding the adult film star and kept moving along. I went to a bar and levitated through a back room where a young black couple were ferociously getting busy under covers on a really long couch with a plaid pattern remisincent of a popular style from the 80s. I looked back when a girl ran into the room panicking and shaking the cover off the grinding couple to ask “HEY, HEY! HAVE Y’ALL HEARD OF THE HUNGER GAMES?!” The girl was trolling them, and I laughed myself awake.