In my dream, a friend of mine had killed himself. But instead of there being one funeral at one church, there were funerals for him at every church in the city. But each church had people out front, begging you to come to their church. (All these churches were lined up on one street.) I saw one that I thought looked interesting. The people were out front, on their knees, with their lips to the ground. (In my dream, these people were Muslim.) But there was no one asking people to come inside. I decided to go in. It was like a normal church, pews in rows, an altar up front.
When I entered, the man at the altar stopped talking, and everyone turned to look at me.
"What are you doing here?" The man at the altar asked.
"I wanted to view the service here,"I replied.
The people looked me up and down.
The man at the altar said,"We will have to discuss this."
The people all immediately went into this room and shut the door.
Some children that remained came up to me.
One pointed at one of my tattoos, and asked,"Did that hurt?"
"A little," I told him.
"What about that? Did that hurt?"A little girl wanted to know, pointing to my navel ring.
"Yes," I answered.
The adults came out and several of the women came over and embraced me.
"Welcome,"they said.
They led me into their apparent teaching room.
I tried asking a few questions about their religion.
"Why do your women wear these veils? Why are the men in the superior posistion?What or who is it that you are praying to?"
After every question I would ask, a few people would leave the room.
Finally, there were only a few women and a few men remaining.
"You will stop asking these questions immediately,"one woman commanded, as she forcefully grabbed me.
"Maybe I should go..."I tried to say.
"Go? Go where? You can't leave,"one of the men told me.
And sure enough, I looked around. There was only the one door in the building, no windows.
Weeks later, after I had been kept there by these people, I managed to escape when someone else came through the front door.
This caused a worldwide religious war. I was scared and living on the streets because the "Muslim" people were looking to kill me.
A priest came to me one day in an alley.
"You should come with me,"he said in a low voice.
Thinking that it was someone trying to hurt me again, I tried to get away, but he grabbed me.
"I'm here to help you,"he told me.
I went with him.
He brought me to see the pope. The pope told me that I had to publicly apologize to these people. It was the only way to stop them from chasing me and being angry with me. I also had to go back and live with them.
I agreed.
I apologized, and went back to them.
But they had lied, they were still angry.
The leader of the group, the man at the altar, shot me in the chest upon my arrival.
