Where's Freud when you need him?

I'm standing on a balcony overlooking the courtyard. A few doors down there's a woman outside also. She's angry. At me. Swearing, she hurls a bottle in my direction. I duck, and it shatters behind me. Small pieces of glass sting my exposed skin. The woman jumps the railing and heads for my balcony. I run inside, try to secure the door. It won't latch! I try again, no luck. The woman is stronger than I am, and forces her way through the door. As she advances toward me I see she carries a long knife in each hand. She attacks. I duck and weave, but I'm no match for her. I get several deep gashes. An onlooker takes one of her knives and hands it to me, so I can fight back. I manage to cut her a couple times. I knock her down, and go in for the kill. Try as I might, I can only hit her shoulder, as if there's a force-field guarding the rest of her. I look, and realise neither of us is injured. No cuts, no blood. I gingerly try my knife on the tip of one finger, then rasp it hard across my arm. The knife is made of soft rubber. Hmm. "Weird" I say, and drop the knife.