I heard two loud "pops" in quick succession, felt the impacts on my abdomen and chest. I went down. Falling backwards, feeling a warm stickiness on my stomach, I knew I'd been shot. Looking down I could see the stomach wound but not the chest. To stop the bleeding I stuck a finger from my left hand into the wound. I was in shock so the pain hadn't kicked in yet. I began to look for the shooter. Off to my right I noticed a pleasant looking, decently dressed man in his mid to late 30s walking toward me. He had medium length sandy blond hair, glasses with a metal frame and an odd, giddy smile on his face. as he approached he brushed hair out of his eyes with his right hand, the hand that had the chrome semi-automatic. He was coming to finish me off. I instinctively reached to my hip only to find nothing! No gun! I looked down again as he quickly closed in on me and noticed for the first time I was in civilian attire. It was around then that he reached me and began to drop down to one knee and bring his pistol to bear on my face, and the time that I realized that this was a dream. I grabbed his gun-hand with both of mine and wrenched hard in a wrist lock. Pointing the muzzle at my attacker I placed my finger on the trigger and pulled, click, click. It did not fire. I thought "Fuck! Why don't these things ever work for ME in these dreams!" I grabbed his groin and squeezed and twisted firmly. He wasn't smiling now! he grunted and released the gun into my left hand. I promptly smacked him in the temple with it, and began to roll away to get up. That is when I woke up, pulse racing and chest hurting where the phantom bullet had struck. My sub-conscience had me checking for blood, even though I knew there would be none. Funny how the sub-conscience works like that. It can't tell real from dream and causes all of the physical reactions that you would have in reality. Fight or flight mode kicks in and BOOM, adrenalin floods your bloodstream. I noticed the corner formed by the walls and ceiling was twitching slightly. I blinked and shook my head, looking again, it still twitched. "Damned nystagmus!", "I guess I will have that for the rest of my life." I got up and made my way to the kitchen, cracking joints and popping my knees and shoulders while stretching and sort of walking at the same time. I made coffee. The aroma filled the air; I thought about how much I hate going to work on the days that I dream I've been shot.