As dreams go, I don’t really remember how it started.
I was on a bus, I think it was supposed to be a public transit bus at first but somewhere along the way it turned into a school bus, with the narrow aisle in the middle and two columns of benches with high backs. Same with the amount of people, I am fairly sure this guy boarded the bus after me and sat in front of me by several seats but he ended up on the inside of my bench, the bus was fairly empty, now it was fairly full.
Everyone also changed into a kid except the bus driver. Or at least they appeared to. I didn’t feel as if my control was suddenly different. Maybe middle school is a good enough interpolation.
This guy was harassing me because he knew that I had money. Money as in a significant wad of cash on me, not electronics or watches or something detached. I forget why I had money on me, but I did, and it wasn’t entirely surprising he knew, I believe I was putting it in my backpack or something as he got on. I was ignoring him until he started threatening me, at which point I laid out all the possible responses I would have to a threat, namely 1) I give up the money, 2) I don’t give up the money and I win, and 3) I don’t give up the money and I lose. He said something which I didn’t particularly like or cared for, at which point I grabbed his head and rammed it against the wall of the bus.
Up to this point the couple of rows up and down our bench were watching because it’s not like anything interesting ever happens on a school bus. I unfortunately was not able to knock him out or some equivalent because something was weighing his head or body more than I thought, and all I gave him was a bruise. Here the bus driver decided to do something, namely come back and tell us she’d just reported both of us to ~The Office~.
He complained about how I was the violent one and he hadn’t actually done anything, and the bus driver made fun of him or something with a combination of mocking tone and some arguments, indicating that she had been paying attention. It was definitely a she, I remember that she looked relatively young and had some sort of declaration of style on her. Maybe she had a date after? Why care about what you look like if you’re a bus driver for kids?
Mostly everyone on the bus had paid attention by now, and laughed at the guy. I didn’t pay attention to his reaction in particular. Didn’t feel cramped or threatened even though I was still sitting right next to him.
Eventually the bus stopped and everyone got off. Bus driver reclined back in her seat, she apparently wasn’t going anywhere for the time being. Some people patted me on the back and gave words of suport as they passed by me. Can’t say in particular why I wasn’t geting off when it was my row’s turn. Guy didn’t tell me to move either. Must’ve been the dream screwing with me.
After everyone filed off, I got up and started toward the exit (if you forget what a school bus is like there is only one door and it’s at the very front) but stopped someway through to look at one of the benches, Somehow he walked past me while I was still standing in the aisle. He stopped too, but he took a random bench. On the bench I stopped for there was a binder and a textbook, and I bent down to see if there was a name on it somewhere.
Heard a sound. My dreams are usually mute. Looked up, dream magically zooms me in to the source: he was extending a box cutter. I yell to the bus driver this, but she waves me off, and my magic vision this time shows me the time schedue when she’s on the job. Implication apparently being that the current time was when she didn’t have to do anything.
He stood up without his backpack and faced me with the box cutter. At this point I think it’s important to note that this guy was a nigger. Important because it paints a vastly different picture than if he was not. Usually for dream records I mention things the first time I notice them because it does not force the interested reader to reread, but this one I refrained for reasons if you do not already understand, you will understand.
This guy was a nigger. If he was more like me, I would have no qualms about the situation. Anything that happened would happen and outside of gang world bribery money I’d be fairly confident that the case would be judged relatively fairly. However since he was a nigger I could not trust in such a future. If I lost, nothing would happen. If I won, it’d be a hate crime. If the dream occurred in another era it’d be as if I was up against nobility or royalty trying to assassinate me in some other equally restricted space. In this era, niggers are the protected class.
As this dream wasn’t themed on race, a short demonstration: note that most people would automatically accuse me, if had I described this guy when I noticed it in my dream, or even now, of being a “racist”. “He’s using a derogatory hate speech term against African-Americans!” An automated defense system. To be quite frank I’m not sure what race he was because my dreams are in lineart. No colors, not even greyscale crosshatches. I can tell you if something was there or not, but that’s it. Occasionally something is shown in full color and form. In this dream, it occurred once: the boxcutter sheath was turquoise.
When I use the word “nigger” I am referring to the dishonorable class of people, usually of low intelligence and finesse, whom I cannot respond to with equal force or power as I do to those whom society sees as my equals. This nigger who was about to run me through with a box cutter for instance could’ve been an illegal mexican immigrant, or the son of a white cop, or of african descent. Any one of them would’ve been the same, because my available responses to them aren’t derived from their race, it’s derived from their societal position relative to mine.
His strategy made immediate sense. Outside I could run or otherwise use the environment to my advantage, but here there was nowhere to go except up and down the aisle. Couldn’t even make a racket because the windows were closed and the bus driver didn’t give a shit. Or rather, would not yet give a shit, because nothing had happened. Perhaps not even then, because no one else was around to approve her style points if she actually did do something. She was filing or painting her nails or something.
He started running down the aisle. I had my hand ready to pick up either the binder or the textbook. The plan was to catch and break the blade, then smack him down with it before he could re-extend the cutter. Initially I wanted to stab him back with it, but I remembered how the bus driver treated the situation earlier and I vaguely remembered how America generally treats self-defense against niggers.
But there were no other options at my disposal. I wasn’t about to stand there and get stabbed to death. I wasn’t about to retreat into a bench and lose my tendons. Running backwards wouldn’t really change anything except that combat would begin with me on the ground under him, and running forwards would only increase risk and potential damage. Given that I was to stay put and attempt to catch the blade at the last moment, I first had to assume that I could actually catch the blade – any other situation would be game over. If I caught the blade and the metal was very strong or I caught it at some angle or dream physics was on my side, then i’d be able to twist the cutter out of his grip and then just fight evenly with fists. This would be the optimal scenario. If that didn’t happen and the blade broke, then my priority would be to prevent the box cutter from extending more blade. As attempting to wrestle a disarmament was out of the question and breaking the whole blade was impossible, the true immediate task would be to prevent him from extending the blade or having the ability to use it for as long as it took me to get out of the vicinity.
The dream stopped there. Probably because I cannot simulate both sides of combat.