Occurred: 2000 July 23
Presently I am in a military training academy. There is a large building on the left, and high fence of the right, and a field to the front which is like a set of stairs. Each stair is the height of a person.
All the trainees are on these steps, but a moment ago there was a simultaneous decision that there was going to be a mass rebellion.
At the top of this field, up all its constituent steps, in a bunker, with a single slit out of which protrudes a rapid-fire cannon. As any of us move a step up we get shot at, so presently there is a stale mate: We cannot move up higher without risking getting shot, and the captain in the bunker cannot leave his post without getting stormed.
A group of four friends and I decide to run to the building on the left, move through the building and emerge closer to the bunker. We run and jump through various ground floor windows, smashing the glass.
The other four went through a different window to myself, and I can hear them being hunted by a professional killer. I retreat to the next floor up. I decide I should go to the top floor and use the vantage point to view the situation of all the other rebelling trainees.
For some reason the stairs of this building are not yet finished. In the corridor I am in I notice something... the ceiling is covered in chairs that are stuck to it. The chairs are the correct way up, just stuck to the roof by their headrests.
To get to the second floor I decide I can pull myself up on the chairs and crawl through all their legs until I reach a hole in the roof. In the mechanics of the dream this was the way to get to the third floor.
I reach a point beyond which I cannot continue. The corridor ahead still has chairs stuck to its ceiling; but the way is blocked. There are large grey roots, thick and gnarly, amongst the chairs. They succeed in being so thick that I cannot continue to use the chairs to get higher.
I realize why this blockage is there. [The reason doesn't make sense so be prepared]. The blockage, the roots, are Christianity. The roots are there because Christianity exists. I affirm that Christianity do not wish for people to rebel against slave owners. I pull on the chairs in anger, and they begin to fall down from the ceiling.
The building is becoming unstable and I run into a room and jump out of a window, back on to the field where the rebellion is still taking place. I charge up the giant steps, dodging the gunfire from the heavy weapon, and enter the bunker through the door in its side. I stab and kill the gunner with a knife, and then assume command of the weapon myself.
In this dream I had the following fear: That I would try to use the gun to help my friends, but I would end up killing more people and eventually would lose my friends, at which point they would storm me and kill me, just as I had done to the gunner before me. The dream ends with that doubt.