I stood in a gas station, patiently waiting in a fairly long line for my turn at the counter.
Well, as I was standing there, the door suddenly swung open. A large, intimidating man walked in. He was tall, and thick with muscle mass. His head was bald, and tattoos decorated his arms, hands, neck. He had his arm stuck inside his jacket, and it registered in my mind.
He has a gun.
You could feel the tension in that room, as the people in the line turned to stare wide eyed. In particular I felt the fear of the woman behind me.
The man simply stood there, his glance sliding over us all, left to right.
Suddenly, he smirks, and speaks in a voice that isn’t nearly deep enough for his physique, “We all have …” Here he pauses, his unsettling grin growing, and then he whips his arm out from his jacket.
I don’t feel fear, only a strange surprise as I realize what he has removed from his jacket isn’t a gun, or at least, not a hand.
It was … well, his hand was a machine gun.
It was a giant, thick silver revolver, laden with bullets.
Losing control of himself know, a smile breaks across his face as he finishes his sentence, “GUNS FOR HANDS!”
Then, as he leaned back to face the ceiling, he raised his arm and began to shoot up the ceiling.
Following this demonstration, he docilely turned and left.
~ Background ~
Oftentimes I am unaware of the cause of my dreams. However, this time, I was able to decipher it.
Every summer, my Youth Group does a Mission Week, where we take five days and do community service around our town.
My two friends and I always ride in the same car, and my two friends will make a spotify playlist, comprised mostly of their current favorite band.
Keep in mind, I refer to their music as, ‘Emo 90s Music’, even though this might not be the best way to describe My Chemical Romance, Fall Out Boy, Panic at the Disco, and Twenty-One Pilots.
At this time, they were fond of Twenty-One Pilots.
Somehow, Guns for Hands worked its way into my subconscious.
In case you are not familiar with this song, I have included it below.
[Skip to 1:00 minute in]
I don’t even listen to Twenty-One Pilots.