When the dream began, I was walking in the filthy deserts of Mexico at about 6:00 pm, thirty minutes before the sun would disappear over the mountains on the horizon. The air tasted of dust and alfalfa, as the fields were beginning to grow lush, turning the landscape into a checkerboard of fragrant life and dry, listless dirt. I was out with two missionaries who were still learning the language. They were both American and spoke with a slow, steady, sloppy accent. I admired what they were doing and was happy I was there with them. My reason for being there wasn't exactly known to me. I only knew that I was there to help them and that I was involved somehow with the American government.
The three of us approached an old farmer resting in the seat of his tractor as it idled in the afternoon heat. The grime he wore in the wrinkles on his face spoke of the poverty he'd become acquainted with, but his smile told of a happiness I found myself admiring. We talked to him of God and life and everything else missionaries share, but he repeatedly explained to us - in the most polite way possible - that he was not interested. I sensed a conflict in his expression, as if he was truly interested in what we were teaching, but felt nervous about being seen near us. It was then, while we were conversing, that I saw a fighter jet in the distance crossing the sky. I continued listening to the man tell us about his life and his family, while occasionally glancing over at the jet. It seemed so out of place in the valley. It's contrail tearing the sky in two, scarring the otherwise immaculate blue that encompassed us above. I began to laugh at a farmer's joke that the man on the tractor was telling when a flash filled the sky - a grotesque fireball rising from the broken hull of the jet, which was then spinning as it dropped to the distant desert. At this point the guy on the tractor started crying, telling us he couldn't talk to us anymore. In the distance, the wreckage of the fighter jet erupted into an enormous explosion that resembled a mushroom cloud. The sound took awhile to hit us, nearly knocking us over as we ran desperately for cover.
Later in the dream, I was standing out in the desert at dusk with four or five others which included my friend, Justin, my uncle Brent, a few Mexican guys and that girl from SWAT (Michelle Rodriguez). They had all been out there working on something to do with oil and had also seen the explosion. One of the Mexican guys had a radio and we listened to a report that told us about an invasion wherein we would be killed on sight. Luckily for us, Michelle Rodriguez knew of a shelter hidden in a desert cave which was cool and safe during the day. We decided that this would be ideal, even though there was a government base very near where we were hiding in which a lot of activity took place. Men could be seen shouting in a strange language, coming to and from this base in jeeps, tanks, etc very similar to the movie Red Dawn, if you've seen it. One day there was more commotion than usual at the base and everyone disappeared in a matter of minutes. We tuned in on our emergency radios again only to hear a broken transmission about strange deaths, horrifying discoveries, and the end of the world.
After that,the dream got fuzzy, but I distinctly remember us standing outside the shelter cave discussing the recent events when we see something falling out of the sky. It looks like a balloon at first, but as it gets closer we can see that it's a guy in a damaged parachute. He hits the ground really hard only fifty or so feet from us and it sounds like his legs break on impact. We rush over to help him out and then realize that he has been dead for some time. His body is slightly decomposed, purple, and grotesque. His badges indicate that he was US Air Force and an astronaut and tucked into his jumpsuit is a very fancy letter-like invitation thing. And though our curiosity begs us to open the envelope, we don't dare pull it away from his body. Nobody dares touch the corpse.
Even later in the dream (and this is where things get really fuzzy) Brent comes back to our shelter with others who I suppose are some of the few that have survived - a large Mexican guy, two black guys who look like gang thugs, and that really attractive detective from "Crash." She carries some papers with her which are more invitations, like the one we saw on the corpse which by this time we'd had the decency to bury, but not before removing the envelope. She mentions that each one speaks of one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse and that each message was pulled from a body of a dead astronaut which fell from the sky. It all makes sense to me at this point and I swear to everyone that this dream is a movie I've seen and that it ends well for most of us.
And then I wake up.