Grabbing the Gun

She was wanted all over the state. Her name was everywhere- on the news, on social media, on the minds of everyone who lived close by. She roamed the streets and hid during the day. Then, come nightfall, she emerged from hiding and broke into the homes of unsuspecting people. She robbed them of their money, their valuables, all while holding them at gunpoint. Her gun was a .38 revolver with the barrel shoved through a doll's head, its mouth spitting out the bullets. That image was the last thing people would see before their death, the head of a grotesque doll staring back at them. Because even when they surrendered all they had, it wasn't what she really came for. She wanted blood.

I somehow knew she was outside my old house one night. I'm not sure if I heard her rustling about, or if I sensed her presence. All I knew was that I was all alone, and I was going to die. Have you ever been so scared that you feel tigers roaring within you, so intensely that the cries reverberate within your chest? I could barely see straight. She was there, just outside. Even with the blinds drawn I knew she could see me. I didn't have my phone. I owned no weapons, save for a kitchen knife that could barely slice a cucumber, let alone defend me. I panicked. Sure, the door was locked, but would that really stop her? My legs quivered as I ran to the bathroom and shut the door. Why the hell didn't that door have a lock? I crouched down into the bathtub. For some reason, that made the most sense at the time. I didn't even hear her let herself in, but slowly the bathroom door creaked open and a doll's head eased inside.

That would not be the last thing I'd see. It couldn't be.

I leaped out of the tub and whipped the door all the way open, catching her off guard. She was so much smaller than expected, not even five feet tall. Her hair was jet black, matching her eyes. She didn't look like a killer. In fact, her face was warm and inviting, her body soft. She smiled, almost shyly, as she aimed the gun at me, saying, "I'm going to shoot you."

Whether out of survival mode or sheer stupidity, I grabbed the gun by the barrel and redirected its aim, jerking her arm with it. This drew her closer to me, and I stared into her astonished onyx eyes. I was bigger than this woman, and I had in my grip her single source of power. Without her gun, she was powerless. I saw the realization strike her.

I woke up with my heart pounding high up in my chest.

This probably seems like a cheap ploy, the "It was all a dream" tactic. For that, I apologize. It felt real. I even remember staring at my dream-self in the mirror (missing a few teeth, a Leah dream staple) and thinking, "I wish so badly this was just a dream."

I constantly have anxiety dreams, ranging from last minute choreography changes to falling from a cliff. When I jolted awake at 6:00 this morning, I couldn't brush this one off as such. This was no ordinary anxiety dream of mine. In those, the problem always wins- the stage prop has been moved, the classroom is nowhere to be found, the parachute won't deploy. This was the first time that I overpowered the problem.

If this situation were to actually happen (lord please at least spare me the doll's head), I'm not sure how I would respond. It's hard to predict our reactions until we're placed in such predicaments. But oddly enough, this bizarre dream gave me a boost. I am capable of standing up and grabbing the gun. I can stare my problem in the eye and make it question its power over me. I may get shot in the process, but at least I won't go down without a fight.