Orange Standards and White Musketeers.

I had an odd dream today. In my dream, America seemed to be knocked back into the dawn of industry. People were wearing old-fashioned clothing and suspenders and such, and I had been walking up a boulevard with Emily. We were quiet, and we just kind of walked beside eachother, arm in arm.

It reminds me, in retrospect, of Philip Glass's "Einstein on the Beach":
"Two lovers sat on a park-bench, with their bodies touching each-other, holding hands in the moonlight. There was silence between them. So profound was their love for each-other that they needed no words to express it."

The walking didn't last long, and somehow, I'd become enlisted as a Standard Carrier.

I had a turn-of-the-century flintlock of sorts and a massive orange banner hoisted over my shoulder. Men were charging up a hill, taking shots, and then sliding back down the slope on their rears so they could reload.

I charged up the hill and looked in the distance to see the approaching army - a small squad of no more than fifteen young men in bright, white uniforms with very anachronistic musketeer-style hats. They were very young, and I couldn't bring myself to fire a shot at them for sake of their age and innocence.

The next thing I recall, the line had been breached. I had retreated into an industrial district and I had dropped the standard and my rifle, but I had a knife. Three of the young boys had followed me, and they were lining up in position down the street I had fled into to fire in wall formation as to insure they'd hit me. I actually hid behind what was either a turned grain-bin or a dumpster - it parted the street into a bottle-neck of sorts so I figured I could win if I could get them one at a time...

I looked desperately for the rifle to no avail, and I rounded the corner where I had expected to find one of the young boys, but he had pressed his back to the side of my shelter quite stealthily, and before I knew it, they seized my arms and had begun to try and cut them off. Their knives were rather dull and I could only panic as they drew them back and forth over my skin just above my elbows, not cutting anything yet but getting closer and closer to blood.

One of the boys, who seemed rather uneducated, insisted I should be fighting the other boy holding my arms. He had a shaved, bald head and drooping, youthful eyes.

The other one still had his hat and was very chipper, as if he thought this were all a game.

I awoke startled with my arms very hot.