I was a British kid who got kicked out of school and ended up living in the street with a friend. He wasn't really a friend, just someone who didn't seem to mind hanging out with me. A complete ass always kicking me and pushing me down to the ground which got more frequent now that I wasn't living at home.

One morning I got up and left the brick utility shed somewhere in a city cursing the fact that not having to go to school actually made me rise earlier without feeling groggy. So I wandered off to get my breakfast, toast and onions, then ran into asshole.

After the usual greeting of hazing he pulled out an old pirate's pistol and fired a few shots in the air. "C'mon, catch it!" He lowered the muzzle and fired at my head missing by a few inches yet I did not flinch from the assault.

I dropped down on the balls of my feet and held my hand out to the side just as he fired again. The dream went into third person mode so I could watch my oneiric avatar move his hand back then screw up with pain as the musket ball hit his palm. Now I thought the bullet went into the palm and up the forearm where it'd lead to a slow, lingering death. Once the dream switched back to first person mode I realized I still couldn't feel anything in my left hand.

The bullet didn't penetrate and I held it up in the fiery light of dawn to show I had caught it without being injured. That's when I began chasing asshole down to beat him up.