I just woke from the most horrible dream.
It was homestead times, and I -- along with many other families, including my own -- had moved out to the country into this large, but flimsy house in Indian country. Myself and a few other girls were up on the roof putting a bird feeder in and we got the warning that Indians were coming. And so, all the little children who evidently were trained to shoot bows and arrows poised themselves on the roof to shoot. And when the Indians got close enough, shoot they did, but only as I yelled (for some unknown reason) "Stop! It's a trap!" And just then, the Indians fired back and hit all the little kids except a few. And one of the kids they hit was my little brother (who, interestingly enough in the dream happened to look nothing like my real little brother at the age of 4 or 5, but rather was blond with blue eyes).
So I'm sitting there holding him, watching him die, and we get swept up into this helicopter and we're circling the homestead and all these cavalry men come and defeat the Indians and I'm holding my little brother and not looking at him but telling him what's happening and trying to keep him awake and alive and then the battle is over and I look down and he's gone and then I look up and see someone standing there and she says "he's dead" and I just started wailing, like I've never wailed before.
It was at this point that I was trying to force myself to wake up, and I couldn't, and I felt like I was going to start crying and I managed to force my eyes open.
Ugh. I hate these dreams. What a horrible way to start the day :(