..I'm imprisoned. Literally.

The jail cell looks suspiciously like my dorm room. I wake in my dream to the sound of the guard looking in. I hear him make some kind of comment about there only being one person in here... but I know that isn't right, because I can see in the mirror that I have a cellmate in the bunk above me. (It's Mike, my friend's roommate I met last night.)

The guards move on. Mike vaults out of bed and lands in a heap on the floor. There must be a camera of some kind watching us, as next to him is an Everything-style display. He is voted up considerably. I make some kind of comment about him waking up before he gets out of bed.

We are taken out to where presumably we spend our days. It is a huge steep indoor slope of green benches or tiers or railings of some sort.. We are up near the top; there's only one fellow above us. I hear people talking about the great jailbreaks... Jack Lewis's two endeavors, and the one in Gigi. The fellow above me is talking to some fellow below me about some guy who actually spoke real Russian while carrying out his assignment of repainting his tier. I lean against mine, but it's seriously not secure; it leans forward horribly, and I fall all the way to the bottom.

The dream goes on. I forget what, until...

Someone asks me what I'd like to do. They take me to the jail's carpentry, and tell me if I like this, why don't I do it? I reply that everyone I know who does this is already missing at least one finger. I'm not assigned the job, but I am told to put all the equipment on its shelves. I pick up a handheld circular saw. It turns on automatically and startles me. I try to turn it off but I can't... It seems that the switch--stupidly placed right next to the spinning blade--is loose. I throw it across the room instead.

I remember hearing that people cut themselves with these things and never notice till they see it, and I look myself over. There are several deep parallel slices all the way down the side of my right hand and cutting through most of my pinky. There are also some less serious cuts on the right-hand side of my torso. I run for help, calling out for first aid. I reach the main gate of the prison--no, it's my dorm's lobby. I have been yelling for help the whole way here, but there is none ready. I show them my hand and keep screaming First aid! Can't you see I'm hurt? But they ignore me as if I weren't there.