I was an African boy or Mayan/Aztec boy, or I was watching an boy about my age, maybe a little younger in a little tribal meeting.... or something.

Before I know it, I can see from HIS perspective and I'm witnessing the destruction of his village, or my village now, I guess. There were these people that looked... Arab? And they were killing all the women and burning down the huts. Feeling a sense of duty, and seeing all of my friends fighting alongside me, I launch myself into battle. Outside of the tribes make-shift fence, two of my friends (I'm guessing so because I felt attached to them) were fighting, and having trouble fighting, the Arab men. I hop over the fence and join the fight, killing one of the men successfully with my bare hands (it's all a blur of motion and screaming. I think I kicked him against the fence or my friends took care of him, or something), The second man I'm fighting stabs me in the chest with a spear (the wound isn't too deep, but it's deep) and I fall to the ground, gasping, grasping at my bleeding chest. I can see the feet of my friends and I'm squirming in agony on the ground... everything is a blur of color, sky, ground skin.

Suddenly, it seems the tribe's witch-doctor is there and I'm looking up at him with tears in my eyes and a feeling of 'don't want to die.' and I keep on sobbing the word "Kamate". The priest smiles from his painted faces and kneels down next to me, resting the palm of his hand on my chest. I relax and feel the blood actually move from beneath his palm.

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And then... I realize that my mom woke me up awhile ago and I had to wake up for school.

Hrm... I think the witch doctor may have been Aztec according to his dress. He had numerous feathers a red streak of paint across his eyes. Would I be thinking too deeply if I said it could possibly have been Quetzalcoatl?