knives

Shit.
At some arcade, where there were a bunch of Wii games, but only played on arcade esque games. I apparently owned one of the machines, and this was proven by this key that I owned, which fit into the keyhole to power the game off. The guy running the joint, security, whatever, backed off of me after he saw that I did indeed own the machine, and then he asked if I wanted to go out some time. Dominic was with me, but I thought this guy was really cute, and I took him up on his offer. It was really difficult for me to give him my number, so I took his cell phone and tried to text myself from his phone so I would get his number, but I kept typing gibberish. His phone was also very complicated and looked more like a TV remote. After this, all I wanted to do was get out of this building, but I don’t think I had the machine with me. I eventually ran into dream people, and then Katie and my father.
We were just talking at first, but eventually they were after information from me. They started speaking in hypotheticals, and then started asking me very direct questions, like “if you ever killed someone, where would you hide the body?” I started seeing images in my head, I guess they were memories. A girl was dead and folded up like a lawn chair under my bed, as was all the incriminating paper evidence that existed of me talking about killing her with another person. My dad told Katie to check the garage for a body, and I started to freak out that they were actually serious and somehow knew that I killed someone. I ran off to my room and grabbed one of the stacks of paper, and started to rip it up before anyone could get to me. I went to my bathroom, and flushed the evidence. That was only one collection—there was still more paper. Katie came in as soon as I flushed, and looked at me with eyes that didn’t know who she should trust. I looked at her the same way, wordlessly pleading for her to be on my side. Eventually we were all together again, and my father asked if I knew how it felt to be raped. He told me not to worry, because I soon would know. At this point I knew things were getting very serious very quickly, and I had IRC open on the desktop computer near me. I tried to find Joel, and told him to call 911. He never replied, but I had an image of him running from his keyboard to the phone in my head. I was starting to turn different colors from the blows I sustained, my skin puckering and bruising.  Katie wasn’t a part of this, but she stood in the distance with her mouth hung open. My father had a large kitchen knife at one point, and it soon found a place in the top of my thigh. I screamed with the unimaginable pain, but my adrenaline also kicked in. I removed the knife from my leg and ran off, determined to see myself living to another day.
Wherever I ran off to in this huge labyrinth of a building, the cast of this dream started to expand. People running around in Viking-esque clothing were present, as were Chinese men. I soon found out that what was happening to me was happening to a bunch of captive girls in this place, and there were even some recruited boys for this elaborate torture scheme that were having second thoughts, with no way to resign. I started to find other bloody, beaten up girls in their own hiding places as I sneaked around the shady areas that I could find. We would bump into one another, nod heads, and continue on together. The dream gets a little blurry here—finding more and more girls, running into men that wanted me especially out of everyone else, then getting away from them by slashing at their throats with the knife I still kept with me…chaos. At some point, I borrowed some of the garb my enemies were wearing, and dressed up so that it took more time for everyone to notice that I wasn’t a part of their group. Even so, people that were here against their will could immediately notice that I wasn’t who I tried to dress up as, and nodded their heads that they knew. I soon noticed that other girls like myself had caught onto my knife idea, and were finding their own slivers of glass or metal that could be used as a cutting tool, and went to cutting the throats of our enemy. I was proud to see that my example was one worth following. Aaagh, details are very fuzzy now. I ran into one of the boys that wanted to get out of here, and he—OH. There was actually a way to leave this place, by train, $12 dollars, but you could only board if you were a part of the evil organization. Even though I was dressed for the part, I wasn’t confident enough to make it past the ticket line. The boy I was with knew this, and we started to weave our way through the people in line and back into the fray. I think this is where I woke up?