A dream or a fan?

.

.

Or a bit of both?

Three bullets, from a rifle, not a pistol.  Medium to shorter range.  From behind.  In a fairly small cluster, all within two inches anyway, three.  One coming out just a couple inches below and to the right of my belly button, to give you an idea about placement.  The rest lower.

I didn't think the pain of dreams was supposed to be residual?  Maybe there was something causing the pain upon which the mind crafted the dream?  A hard stitch.  When I woke, I thought maybe trying to go to the bathroom might help the problem.

No, that wasn't it.  It really did feel like echoes of internal wounds.  Which do disturb the bowels, and else.  But as secondary effects.

My writing often makes some of my readers want to reach out and touch me.  Ghandi and John Lennon had that effect on some of their fans too.  Whether that puts me in good company is a whole other topic though.

Good shooting, though, I was thinking.  Not necessarily crack, though maybe.  You really wouldn't want to go through, basically, the same hole.  So, on a practical level, probably a good series of well aimed shots.  Still I couldn't tell the range.  But even at fifty yards, which I surmised from several factors to have been the closest possible range, it wasn't bad.

I was thinking that just as my body was beginning to flood my system with painkillers and the edge of the pain was just beginning to recede.  Yeah, I have had real events that reminds me about, if nothing quite that serious?  Maybe the draino.  But I never received painkillers for that.  Then again, my body did make it's own, which is what this was in the dream.  The crushed or shot arm though.  And other traumas.

*grins*

I don't mind my life.  The pain tells me life is worth dying for, and the truth.  And living for.  Still, amazed that much pain can happen from a dream and carry into waking life.  The real juices are kicking in, covering... something.  Perhaps just a false perception?  But it sure doesn't feel faux.

Good day, and night.