Mom is angry for some reason. Dad has some weapons and gives something to me, which further angers Mom. It is a "bullet bomb," a device laced with blue rubber bullets that, when activated and thrown, will fire bullets in all directions.
A beige skittle candy is handed to me. It starts to beep. It could be the tracking device the evil people have been using to track us down. Perhaps it holds information or secrets that we can analyze under a microscope -- the microscope at the core of all evil.
There are numerous people in the room. Mom told us to stay inside but some are getting restless. One person ventures out the door into the hallway. He is bait. The zombie charges him, but we are prepared. Two students from inside the room gracefully stab the zombie with knives.
The entire crowd gradually streams out of the room into the hallway, which looks very much like this note's photo (from the game FEAR) but without the soldiers and blood. I lead the group down the hall. Turn a corner, just barely dodge a zombie with knives. He gets slashed by students behind me.
Turn another corner. An entire single-file line of zombie girls walk towards us. Each have a knife in their right hand, their right arm slightly extended to the side. I cut off the arm of the first zombie-girl. Blood sprays onto my glasses, and I wipe them clean. She falls. I cut down the next girl's arm. And the next girl. So much negative energy. So much killing. Students behind me are helping finish off the zombies, but the line of incoming zombie-girls stretches out before us, unending.
Realization: They're LETTING us kill them. They don't care. They're mentally beating us down, feeding us negative thoughts with each zombie-death. Moreover, each slain zombie will haunt its killer for life. Even if we manage to fight our way to the core of all this evil, find out what's up with the skittle transmitter, and make it out alive, we will forever be haunted and plagued by the souls of the fallen zombie-women. It's a lose-lose situation. Die, or survive and be haunted forever.
I fall asleep in the middle of battle.
Some girl wakes me up in my bed. Then she grows, turning into a giant human-ghost-python-cyclone. Unsuitable music accompanies this transformation: A windy flute lip-slurring open tones (on the overtone scale) from low to high to low. Sounds comical. Then I wake up.
This picture embodies the atmosphere of this dream perfectly, except that there were more people/zombies and more blood. And no one was dressed like a soldier.
