Another dream (maybe I should just start numbering them?)

I had this dream two nights ago (okay, so not last night or the night before, but the night before *that*.)

Because this dream was further back, my memory has a few more gaps. Well, my accessible memory does. Anyway, I was a mentor or a Big Brother or something in my dream, and I was working with various children. Some of the kids were from where I work, but others were from out in the community. Anyway, in the first part of my dream, I was working with two incredibly overweight women who would just sit in chairs and eat and gossip, even though they were supposed to be helping me watch all these kids. (Please don't hate me for judging these women... they were in my dream and I don't think my conscious self would ever intentionally criticize or judge a woman's weight or eating habits. I know how hard it is...) For some reason, we were watching all of them at my parents house (I have no clue where my parents were) and the two women were sitting in lawn chairs on the deck. The kids were just running around and I was really worried about any of them getting lost since we have a dense wood behind our house. So I'm running upstairs, downstairs, inside, outside, all around trying to keep the kids happy and occupied. Fortunately, the weather is beautiful (summertime!) outside.

I guess something went wrong, despite my efforts. I was back in Manassas near my own apartment and I had just bought a kid an ice cream or something before I was to take them back to their parents. The kid seemed really happy and I didn't say/do anything wrong... but then he (or she?) suddenly turns and shoots me in the stomach. I fell to the ground and the kid ran away. I knew I wouldn't die, but as I lay there curled up in a ball, my first thought was covering up the wound so no one could see it. Now, this isn't really easy to do when you're just wearing a t-shirt and jeans cause it's summertime (as opposed to the billion of layers in the winter) but I think I managed for a little bit. I walked some more, past a group of youngish boys playing near the road. As I passed, one of them shot me too, but this time in the chest. Both core shots (think target practice outlines) and the loss of blood should have killed me (maybe the caliber was too small?) but it didn't. I wasn't even particularly afraid of dying. I was just embarassed of being shot and didn't want anyone to know about it. I ran the rest of the way home, clutching my chest and stomach so no one would see me bleeding to death.