GENTLWOLF

Was shown the events (1st person in flashes) of a young black boys life that lead him (me) to kill a cop in his later years. Things like witnessing police plant heroin on an old homeless woman from my (his) neighbourhood and then mace and arrest her for "resisting". Then ruffing the boy (me) up and saying they would tell my (the boys) parents that I had been caught doing drugs if I said anything.

There were over a dozen intensely emotional situations that reinforced the overwhelming hatred of police. Most of the scenarios seemed to be projected into different rooms of the highschool we went to. As if they were holograms playing on loop.  All of them in order up to the memory of the boy (myself) being in a situation that lead me to hatefully fire a handgun into a police officer several times killing them. Afterwards immediately realising they were "one of the good ones".

    This smoothly transitioned to myself walking out of the highschool (a large old gothic castle looking building, three or four stories tall, surrounded by gardens and lawns and small trees) where I now embodied the life of a young caucasian girl who has been on crutches as far back as I (she) could recall. There had been an accident and her knees had been crushed (or shattered) beyond repair. 

Outside in front of the school on a picnic bench we sat with two men, one of whom I think was our dad.  Another man (Ed Harris) walked up who I recognised as a classmates father. He was dressed like a cowboy and had spurs on his boots. I had mixed feelings about him because his child was one of the many classmates who teased me about my crutches daily. A conversation arose that lead to my disability and the next thing i knew Ed Harris turned to me and started insisting I could walk. "you CAN walk" he repeated. there was immense pain in my knees as I looked down at them (knobby and frail looking in shorts) I didn't believe him and glanced at my father who was staring at me with a look on his face that I couldn't read. Slowly i moved my legs from under the bench and stood up. Deeply confused and upset and in excruciating pain i realised i could stand and maybe even walk on these two things that felt stiff as wood and sore beyond recognition. I (she) started to break down and cry thinking about how long ago she could have realised this. And only now, thanks to Ed Harris, was she (I) finally going to walk without crutches.