I apologize for the lack of dreams lately. To be honest, I just haven't remembered much, and the things I did remember were fragmented enough that they wouldn't have been worth typing. I mean, would you like to open a dream and see only "I remember my dead dog Higgins was tied to an old water pump, the end"? I doubt it. But last night I had a decent enough dream so for now, I'M BACK.

I was in a dark living room with sort of an olive-brown carpet and fake wood panelling. Two people, a guy and a girl, who I am convinced that I know, yet I don't think I've ever met them, were sitting on the floor to the left of the television, watching a documentary. I sat down in a chair to the right of the tv to see what was going on.

It was a documentary on the green rattler, a snake that, to my knowledge, does not exist, but the sight of it conjured up many unpleasant memories. This snake moved in a smooth yet jittery manner, as if it were a product of stop-motion animation, something straight out of one of those old dinosaur movies. It was crawling around in the grass, and the camera was really up-close and personal. Somehow this snake would either be completely inperceptible to the little animals of the world, or it would somehow trick them into thinking it was benevolent, because mice and frogs and stuff were hopping, running, whatever, right to the snake, and all it had to do was open its mouth and swallow. It was like the ultimate charmer I guess, just sucking in these little creatures and devouring them.

Camera cut to a bed covered in a pile of predominantly-beige quilts. They were all tossed about, making little "caves" and mounds all over this bed. Soon little kittens started crawling out of the caves and playing with each other on the bed. Pardon me, but it was so cute. There was one long quilt that stretched outwards from the bed and draped over a couch on the other side of the room. The couch sat right in front of a window with some semi-transparent drapes shut, letting in a yellowish glow from the sun outside. This blanket allowed the kittens to walk from the heap-o-quilts on the bed over to the back of the couch without having to touch the floor. It was kind of like a 6-foot-wide rope bridge only it was made out of a quilt. Anyway, the kittens would walk over to the couch and play around on the back of it, knocking each other off onto the quilt below, and carefully peering over the back of the couch, in the small space between the couch and the wall.

At this point, though, all the kittens had returned to the bed for their playing, but the camera stayed focused on the couch. Right before "it" happened, I got a sick feeling in my stomach because I knew what "it" was going to be--a green rattler slowly peeked its head up over the back of the couch, and began its descent over the top onto the quilt. It was going after the kittens.

The distinction between the documentary and real-life became quite blurred, as I found myself in the room with the kittens. It seemed to be in the same house, as I noticed the room had the same brown panelling. The reality vs documentary issue was not the only thing that was changing dramatically, as the whole environment was shifting. There were several of us--I don't know if the two from the living room were there, but we were determined to stop the snakes from advancing. The area between the bed and the couch was becoming a large gorge, and that gorge would be the kittens' last line of defense. The problem here was that we had some tanks over on the couch side of the gorge, and we needed to get our troops over there before the snakes took control of the tanks.

That was the last I saw of the couch and the bed, because the next thing I remember I was over on the other side of the gorge on a dry, rocky slope, climbing up to get into one of the tanks. We were all extremely over-dressed in cowboy attire, with the pants, chaps, long sleeved shirts, vests, jackets, boots, spurs, and hats with the string that goes under the chin. Oh and of course we had the coating of light dust that all rock-climbing cowboys posess.

The tanks looked like they had been there, untouched, for many years. To the southeast about 20 feet from my tank was an old wooden building that looked like it maybe used to be some sort of storage shed. It had long been abandoned though. Everything was covered in a thick layer of that tannish-beige dirt that painted the landscape. Nevertheless, the tanks worked, and because of that key point, they were dangerous if they fell under the control of the snakes. I got into my tank and didn't see any snakes at my feet or anything, but then one began to crawl out of the hole where you put the shells (forgive my tank ignorance). I grabbed a shell and shoved it in there, trapping the snake, and fired. One snake down.

In my stupidity, I didn't think about where I was aiming. My shot went across the gorge to the slope on the other side. I knew that it would be safely short of hitting the base at the foot of the hill, but what I didn't think about was that the people over in the base wouldn't know what I was doing. As they should have done, they interpreted that as an attack gesture, and therefore assumed that the snakes had in fact taken over the tanks. As a result, the dozen or so of us that were attempting to rid the tanks of the snakes were now under attack from our own troops. The two guys standing on the tanks south of mine (the gorge ran north and south; the fire was being exchanged east to west) were both shot repeatedly before they could even reach their holsters. They sort of swayed for a second and then fell onto their respective tanks. After falling, they seemed to be sucked into the tanks. I later decided that this had to be the work of the green rattlers.

There were only four of us left, I believe, as the attack was so sudden that we were the only ones in a position to take cover. I was the only one actually in a tank, so I backed up and drove over to the other guys. They got in, and we tried to figure out what to do. If we left, that would leave the other tanks for the snakes to take over and use against our people on the other side. However, we couldn't stay, or else we'd be killed by 1) our own people 2) the snakes or 3) both. We came to the solution that, even though the tanks were a huge asset to us, we had to destroy them all (except the one we were in, of course) to eliminate the threat of the snakes taking them and using them against us. And the kittens.

The tanks were easy to destroy, as they weren't moving yet, so we backed out of the area and drove to the east. In the scheme of the original room, we were driving off the back of the couch through the window. But that was all long gone. I was driving, but I didn't really know where to go. My friend Josh, the only one I really knew in the tank, told me about an old mining town that he knew of where we could hitch up the tank. He said there was still a good well there, and the last time he was there, there was still a place to get something to drink, so we decided that would be a good place to go to figure out what to do next.

We ended up driving west again to get to this place, so that tells me the gorge must not run perfectly north and south. The sun was beginning to set behind this open-faced shed full of various broken wagons. Facing that, to the north a ways, was a smaller shed with what seemed to be a parking stall beside it, as it had a wall around it with an open front. Josh told me to park the tank in there. I was having trouble doing it, and he said "See how tough it is? Remember the other day when you guys were picking on me for having trouble parking? That was here!" He wasn't hurt or anything--he was saying it in a playful tone.

But I did remember. I knew exactly what he was talking about. I could remember it so clearly. He was backing in, and the stall wasn't wide enough. I remember it just as clearly as the rest of the dream, but it wasn't in this dream. I don't remember thinking about it previous days, like it was from another dream or something. I just have that memory. I know that it happened, and I knew it when I needed to know it. In dreams, you don't just dream events, you dream memories, and that's what happened to me there.

Anyway, I ended up removing one of the walls of the shed because I didn't get pulled in straight, but it was good enough so I turned off the tank and got out. Josh ran off to try to get us hooked up with a place to stay. I stayed with this frail guy who was with us. I don't really know if he was supposed to be with us or not, because he didn't have a gun. He just carried a briefcase. He was having trouble stepping down from the tank so I helped him. He wasn't even wearing proper cowboy attire like Josh and I were--he was wearing a yellowish suit with a pink shirt. And they looked sort of clean. Nevertheless, he was with us, so I took him with me and we hid behind a small water tower that was about 10 feet east of where we parked the tank. A bit of irrelevant info, straight north of the tank, wrapping around to about 20 feet east of the water tower, was a row of dense trees.

So this guy and I were sitting behind the tower talking. This tower, that's not really the right term. There was a cylindrical base about 7 feet high, 5 feet in diameter, and on top of that sat a 8-10 foot tall, 7 foot diameter water tank, with the cone top. Anyway, we sat behind it, and I heard someone coming from the south. I could hear his boots in the dirt and the jingle of his spurs. I snuck my head around the west side of the base, using the ladder that went up to the water tank as cover. He was a rough looking guy, the type of guy who prompts scary music in a western drama. He seemed to be talking to someone, and there might have been somebody standing to his left (west) but if they were there, they were on the other side of the army tank so I couldn't see them. He looked back in our direction and saw me. I spun back behind and just as I got cover a bullet whizzed by. I got my gun out and stuck my head out just long enough to fire.

We exchanged rounds...I took a bullet in the shoulder, but it was my left shoulder so it wasn't an immediate problem. Then he yelled out "I ain't got a problem with you gunner boy...but it's open season on accountants, and I aim to get me one! 100 quid a head these days..." My friend here was the accountant, I figured, and he was defenseless. He got up and stepped out, saying "Who is that, and how does he know me?" He took a bullet in the stomach, but he didn't fall. He sort of stumbled back to my side and begged me to help him. I told him not to worry. I shot back and got the guy in the leg, but the next time I looked around the base I couldn't see him. I was out of bullets so I had to reload quickly.

I could see him coming around the other side--he was right there, and I had my gun, I had it but it was no good--I was out of bullets--I was reloading. Then I realized I wasn't me anymore. I was over there, standing up against the base of the water tank struggling to reload my revolver because my left shoulder was bleeding like crazy. That was me over there.

Only now, ME was the frail accountant. I was sitting, curled up on the ground to the northeast of the water tank, which kept me safely shielded from the attacker before, but now that he came around the other way, I was completely vulnerable. He muttered something about getting his 100 pounds. I could see my protector fumbling around with his gun, sweating profusely, dropping bullets, telling me not to worry, everything was going to be okay. I could see the gunman laughing, taking aim...

But then I had a gun! I don't know where it came from, but I had it. But I had only one bullet. I knew that, but I didn't know which of the next six trigger-pulls would fire it. I pulled the trigger. So did he. Another gut shot. "Don't worry, it's going to be okay." I pulled the trigger. So did he. My thigh splattered. I knew my wife was going to be upset when she saw the mess I had made of my suit. "It's okay, you're safe with me!" I pulled the trigger. So did he. That was my chest. Right through my pocket. The sky was turning red again, but so was everything else. I was having trouble raising the gun again. He was just playing with me. "Keep with me, don't worry!" And I could see, leaning up against the base of the water tank, my protector fumbling with his gun, still trying to comfort me. But I don't think he knew I was there anymore. He was sending his cheers almost unconsciously as he wept, unable to move his left arm anymore, unable to load any more bullets. I could see he only had two bullets loaded. I pulled the trigger. I saw the hammer come back, and I could see the brassy glimmer of the bullet. This was it! I pulled the trigger all the way back...and nothing. The hammer was somehow jammed. Bullet to the chest again. I couldn't take it. The arm holding me up gave out. I fell back and looked at the sky and the leaves up to my right. I heard my killer laugh. I heard my protector shout out some sort of primitive growl. I heard a gunshot. I heard a thud on the ground. I heard my protector crying again. I heard another gunshot. I heard another thud on the ground. I closed my eyes.

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