I had a dream that I was in a war. My unit was sandwiched between two units of enemy and caught in the crossfire. I did get more than my share of them, but to do that, I made a bold move and stood up from behind my cover. I lasted a few seconds, enough for me to think that what I accomplished was worth it, and I was shot. I felt one go in my back, low (off the stomach and to the right). Another one went through my left thigh from the front. I spun as I fell and I could remember watching my fellow soldiers cower behind the cover, but I knew that they wouldn't last. They were scared. They started at me with wide eyes and gripped their guns too tight. You need to be loose. My fingers held the handle of my gun lightly, I couldn't hold on anymore,but I wasn't letting go. I didn't call out with any words of wisdom. I used whatever willpower I had to slow my breathing and heart beat. Trying not to panic as a chill swept into my body. I was shot again, but I couldn't feel it.

I didn't die.

I woke up in a bedroom. The government had found me, still alive, and brought me back to safety. They removed the bullets (7) and put them in a jar next to my bed. I took them out and fingered them. my arms hurt. One of them was shot. I had bandages and casts all over under ripped pajamas. A little girl of about four or five came in to smile at me. After a pleasant but silly conversation, she ran to fetch her mother. The mother explained to me that the government (who was losing the war) didn't have a lot of room in it's hospitals for the patients so they asked familes to volunteer to care after wounded soilders. They were in charge of feeding me and giving me medicine and taking me to the hospital for tests. Her husband was serving in the war somewhere. Her, her daughter and her thirteen-year-old son became my family as I healed and re-learned how to walk. I had a cane and a limp for a long time afterwards. After I healed, I wanted to go back to the front, but the dream ended instead.