dream

I think the combination of seeing Matrix: Reloaded and watching the news coverage of the middle east has effected my sleep.
Had a dream: I was in the run-down lobby of a dingy bank, or maybe it was a hospital. It was full of depressed, dirty, hopeless people sitting on grimy old waiting benches. Babies cried. Old people stared off into nothing. I stood near the back, looking over the scene, detached. Suddenly a young man runs in, pulls out a revolver, and starts shooting. Panic ensues; people dive for cover and run. The images unfold in bullet-time slow motion. I run towards him as he hurries to reload. Spent shells fall, hand in his pocket, I get closer. One bullet chambered, two, three...I close in. Four bullets, five, and I am near the wall he stands against. I reach out towards the umbrella rack, my fingers close around the long handle of a sledge hammer. I spin, lifting the heavy head of the hammer, adding my right hand to the grip, accelerating in dust-flinging slow motion. He snaps closed the loaded revolver and wheels the barrel towards me. The sledge catches him square in the chest, knocking him into the wall. Freeze. Rewind.
Suddenly a young man runs in, pulls out a revolver, and starts shooting. Panic ensues; people dive for cover and run. The images unfold in bullet-time slow motion. I run towards him as he hurries to reload...this time I grab an umbrella from the rack, noticing how much lighter is is than the sledge hammer. I deftly jab the umbrella two, three, four times into his throat, chest, arm. Freeze. Rewind. I grab the umbrella, spin it around and hook his gun-holding hand with the curved umbrella handle. He struggles to free his hand, ensnaring him even deeper into my umbrella-joint lock. Freeze. Rewind. He swings his arm towards me, and just as the barrel is in line with my head, I slide forward and under, my tactical folder knife catching him in the wrist, elbow, armpit. Freeze. Rewind. I drive the serrated bowie deep into his forearm, slicing it open elbow to palm. Freeze. Rewind. From across the room I dive, John Woo, emptying my 9mm clip into the wall and him as he lunges for the counter. His shots turning the stuffing of the fake leather benches into clouds of dust. Freeze. Rewind. I spin as he fires his last shot wildly in my direction, no aim, panicking. He reloads as I lunge straight at him, hurdling over the benches. First row. One bullet chambered. Second row, two bullets chambered. As he slaps the revolver into place and raises his eyes and gun to face my I'm already drawing my sword, halfway over the last bench, right leg extended. I draw and cut as my right foot comes down, catching his right arm clean on the rising cut. His hand, still holding the gun, drops harmlessly and clatters on the floor at our feet. My blade continues arcing across his face, he turns and falls.
I wake up. No more TV or movies for a while, methinks.