We were at the mall. I thought the day was fun, even the crowd appeared happy. I walked to the elevator hoping to get to that department store above. The elevator doors opened and out rushed a burqah clad woman pushing her way franctically through people, tears streaming down her face, barely even getting the words out of her mouth.

“Twenty.. twenty.. of them. Twenty people.. ”

Then I heard the gunshots. And then a scream. My heart stopped, time stilled. Suddenly, as if the play button was pressed, people started screaming and running in every direction. I was one of them. Heart beating in my ears, I tried making my way in the direction opposite to the noise, the screaming, the sound of the bullets whizzing. But even as I neared the exit, I had a feeling I wouldn’t be so lucky.

It was as if we were trapped. No one knew where the shots were coming from. People who tried to move out the building were shot at. No one dared to move anymore. No one dared to even talk.

I found myself in a room with two girls I’ve never met before sitting a few feet away from me on the floor. Maybe there were more people, I didn’t know. I was incapable of processing anything else. A doctor was tending to the wounds of an injured. My mind screamed that helping him would be the right thing to do but my body was immobilized, too scared to even move…

… There was a table to my left and on it was a computer, switched on. A biodata table was in full view, ready to be filled out. For twenty people. Twenty. That number was important. The person who noticed it first but refused to do it was shot instantly. He was watching us.

Hours passed and the sniper continued his killing outside. The screams never stopped. Ruthless and barbaric was he. But in the room was silence. No one talked or even acknowledged the person next to them. I wanted desperately to go home. I wanted to forget. I don’t know what made me do it but I got up and went to the doctor. He turned, shocked to see I was there.

“Can I go home?”

I mentally cringed. Not because of the question, but because my voice sounded as if someone had split my vocal cords into two. The syllables were clipping, echoing and foreign. Un-human like. I tried again this time in my native tongue. I desperately wanted someone to tell me that it was okay, that I can go home.

He went to the computer. I don’t know what he did but he said I could. The sniper instructed him to replace my information with another girls’. I didn’t question the decision. The moment my information was erased, I bolted out the room. I ran towards the mall entrance all the while thinking.. “Another girl, where will they find another?” I was too scared to think beyond that.

The entrance way was deserted. Where was the police? For some reason, I thought he wouldn’t shoot me. He said I could go, so why would he? But that didn’t make me anymore less scared. And with that thought, I crossed the parking lot. People looked at me like I was crazy. Whoever was there in plain view were there at their own risk. No one moved to stop me, or warn me, or advise me to go back inside. I was on my own.

Two of his henchmen were guarding the road where he had set up. As I approached it, my heartbeat doubled. One of the henchmen grabbed my arm as I passed and I let him. He pushed me forward as if giving me the ok. I walked slowly, deliberately. My heartbeat in my ears was the only thing I could hear. He could shoot me anytime. I saw bodies on the ground, of people shot who’d come too near. I could be next.

But I kept on walking, without even realizing I reached the end. I could’ve taken a taxi and went home there. But I didn’t. Instead I kept walking for how long I don’t know. There was just one clear thought in my head repeating with every heart beat: He had let me go.

Why? I had no idea. I was glad for the life I was given a second chance to live, unlike the others. Even as I made my way I up the hill that would seperate me from the scene, I started to think what I’d tell my family once I got home. Or the police when they’d question me the next day. Or what I would do if I met him on the street. He knew me. But I had never seen his face. My heartbeat picked up again. I tried calming it by reciting religious phrases as I walked that hill.

—–

And that is how I woke up - reciting those words. My heart fearfully beating even though my life was spared.

This dream wasn’t about hostages or negotiation. It wasn’t about formulating a plan with the other people in the room to set free. It wasn’t about helping the injured. It wasn’t about the police getting the bad guy. It wasn’t about any of that, but about having your life spared at the cost of maybe another. And that’s what terrified me the most.