My father has not died after all. In fact, there are two of them looking exactly alike: the other represents what I thought was good in him and the other all that was bad (drunk, violence, betrayal etc.). The good dies; I see the back of his head which looks like a boiled egg that's been hit: otherwise round but cracked and oozing something (in this case, blood) in the round place.
I wake up. After three hours of playing Minesweeper and finishing a book (from 3 a.m. to 6 a.m.), I fall back asleep:
My father isn't dead. We are driving in a car towards something. My father is driving, and there are me, my mother, possibly my sister and/or my brother and my young cousin. The girl is sitting on my lap, pointing enthusiastically out of the window at different things outside. It makes me smile. We stop somewhere. I see my father buying a gun. I tell my mother we should do something, that he can't possibly be given a gun, him being an alcoholic with a short temper. My mother acknowledges my worry but tells me to be quiet; she seems to think (as in real life) that if you don't talk about it, it's not real. My father comes back and we continue driving like nothing's out of ordinary. We stop again. All of us apart from my father go inside what appears to be a cloth shop or something similar. I am standing near the doorway with my cousin, the rest are further back. Suddenly my father appears in the doorway carrying to handguns. He starts shooting at me. My cousin is no longer there, so I duck under a table near of which I was standing. My father ducks too, and keeps shooting at me. As I realise that it doesn't matter whether or not I get up, that I will die, everything seems to slow down: the bullets that are coming at me and my own movement. I look at my father in the eyes: he's grinning and his eyes seem to be filled with hatred towards me. And I wonder why he hates me of all his children so much. I can see my own body: my pale face and the the wounds, especally the one in my head, near my hairline, and my own open eyes.
I don't like these dreams at all. They make me uncomfortable.
