Dream

The school is on fire, but I don’t feel heat.

I’m cool.

Ice.

I’ve got a gun.  Some improbable gun with scopes and attachments and carbuncles.

People burn, their bodies unrecognizable in the flame. Their vocal cords have been burnt out. No sound. I put rounds into the torches around me, dropping them. They start to charge, one after the other, single file, and I shoot them as they come.

My hands are frozen to the gun's metal, and the gun begins to fire by itself.