"I was in this long room, it was at some kind of summer camp. We were recreating the revolutionary war, except we were using real guns, and they were deadly. The guns were kind of like .22s, and they shot these small BB-like bullets, and you could shoot, uncock and cock, and shoot again (like in a .22, but you didn't have to put another bullet into the chamber, so even though it was supposed to be an old war, the guns were kind of advanced). The war started, and I wondered why we didn't need some kind of permission slip, since people could die. I was in the back, and somehow I lost my gun. I put it down for a second and it went away. There were several lines, all separated by tables, and then parallel to those tables was a big, tall hedge, that separated the teams. I went up a line and asked if I could have someone's gun, and one person gave it to me. I came back and I said to one of my team mates that I wouldn't let anybody on my team die. Then somebody came from around the hedge and started shooting. We all ran up to the next line, but I got shot in the ass. I could feel a huge, dream-like pain, as in I understood it was supposed to be really, really bad, and although I could literally feel some sort of pain, it wasn't as bad as I acted. Then these medics came over, pulled my pants down, and all of a sudden there were stitches coming out of my ass. They cut the stitches, and somebody started unscrewing the balls with pliars or something. I figured that was the standard procedure so I let it happen.

After that, I moved all the way up to the front line. I was talking with this guy. Then, a man moved from around the hedge and shot, and he missed. Instead of running, I decided to fight, so I fired back. I missed, and then he was ready to fire again, but I ducked and he missed. I fired and missed, and he was trying to reload but something was wrong, so then I tried to reload and get in a second shot. He ended up being fast enough, and I simply dropped a little to the left and he missed. This time when I shot, I took aim, and I guess I hit him because he turned and ran. After the war, people collected the guns and we talked about something.

I was at my friend's house, and we were looking at something on the computer. Then we all had to go somewhere. Stan Lee came in, and my friend told me that Stan Lee was living with him, and I said that was cool. We talked for awhile. Stan Lee said that he didn't spend much time at my friend's house since he was always on the move. He was about to leave, and I wanted to ask him for his phone number, not because I was going to call him often, just because it would be cool to have his phone number. I ended up not getting it, and when he left I didn't see him again."

This was one of those dreams that was affected by the day's events, which is rare for me. The Stan Lee part I'm sure was influenced by my readings of "Roger The Stan Lee Experience" (I should post his quotes somewhere on this site, they're hilarious), and my friend was someone who I was having a sleepover with. When I woke up, I thought I had lost my dream, although I could feel it had been a meaty one, but luckily after a few minutes it all came back to me.