I was awoken by the sound of gunshots. At first, I remained huddled in my bed, assuming the gunshots were from somewhere else – I live in a nice part of town. Once the yelling started, it became clear the incident occurred on the street outside my house. I lifted the blinds of my window and saw the victim, blood spraying from his gut, somehow still standing. A police vehicle pulled up with no sirens or urgency. The officers casually stepped out. The shooting victim collapsed. A police officer saw my eye poking through the blinds.
“Open your door,” he addressed me directly, “Let us in.” I stepped away from the blinds, intending to put my clothes on, walk to the door, and speak to these investigators. However, my bed was too comfortable, and I must’ve fallen back asleep.
When I awoke, I questioned if I would be in some kind of trouble for not helping the police. Then I wondered if the shooting had been a dream. I put on my clothes and stepped outside. I saw no body, no police, no investigation, and no crowd. There was, however, a massive streak of dried blood on the road.
I noticed my father going for a walk. He didn’t pay the blood any mind. I told him about my experience the previous night, and inquired about whether or not he thought I had been dreaming.
“I heard some gunshots, too” he informed me, “but they couldn’t have been from near here. It was probably just a dream.”
I looked at the dried blood. I was probably just seeing things. I went about my day, wondering if I’d wake up a second time.