Anyhow, I've felt awfully hatemongerish today and I don't know why. Maybe it was the dream I had:
The dream started with me being handed 3 different things: a large gun (either shotgun or automatic), a handgun, and a knife of some kind. I asked why I was being handed these things, and the answer came from nobody and nowhere at the same time: it was the Zombie Apocalypse. Everyone was killing each other out of mistrust too, so it was every man for himself. The weird part is, if you got killed, you respawned. I was running around in first person, killing everyone threatening to kill me, because the death experienced I could actually feel in my sleep; so every time I was stabbed to death, I felt it.
After a while of senseless killing, I used my words. I explained how pointless this all was and a few seemed to agree. So myself and the small band I had gathered closed ourselves off in what seemed to be a corporate office in the mexican jungle. There were two doors in this room, and a couple windows. The office was set across from another building as well, but it appeared to be abandoned and completely broken down, posing no threat. The doors in the room were locked and blocked off by things, but the people on the outside learned that we were in the room, and started shooting down the doors. We had eventually killed them off when they broke through, and everything seemed quiet.
Then i'm looking at a guy standing near the window, and then--- an arrow grows out of his chest! He falls in dismay to the ground. One, two, three more are killed, until it's just me and this other girl in the room. We look at each other, and she books out the door. I follow her, and before we know it, we're outside in the sun, and then running through thick undergrowth for what seemed an eternity. When she finally stopped running, I collapsed from exhaustion.
There was a crashing through the undergrowth, and I was dragged a short distance to a broken down barn near a river. It was disgusting. There was garbage and children everywhere. I was brought into the barn and thrust into a chair. They were screaming at me in Spanish, and pointing guns in my face. They asked what I was doing in Mexico and asked me why I should live. Even in the dream, I was consciously thankful that I took 4 years of Spanish in High School. I responded in broken words that I should live because I could cook and clean and tend to the children. They backed down, and days passed. I grew fond of the children. A week passed. I cleaned up the camp. I learned they were Mexican Nationalists, planning to overthrow the government for the Zombie Virus outbreak.
Then, I woke up.