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Quentin Tarantino has now officially fucked with my dreams.

I was having a graduation party, the one that I am supposed to have one week from today at the city park, but this one was at my mother's house. We set up a tarp as a giant tent to sleep under that was attached to someones van, and we had set the sleeping bags out although it seemed to be only three or four o'clock. I remember feeling nervous, but only slightly, as it began to rain. As the heavy drops poured down around us, I began to lose track of the friends who had previously been at my side, and that is when I saw my father. He had a look on his face that made me immediately grab something to defend myself with. This object happened to be a two by four and I took a few swings without even knowing why. But my dad was fast, much faster than I had ever seen him move, he had also lost weight, which is probably the reason he could move so quickly. With a look to kill he pulled out a switch blade and advanced upon me. At that point I remebered that the sleeping bags were still getting wet due to the tarp's poor positioning. So as I was evading death at the hand of my father, I also began shoving sleeping bags into their stuff sacks. Without a word, my friends started running and driving away. I ran too, but in the wrong direction, and found myself on the outdoor stairs knocked down with my dad on top of me. He had the knife to my throat and was screaming at me to get up. It was malicious and petrifying but I was not afraid to die, I was scared for my dad, because I knew that if he killed me his life would end too, that maybe it already had; and I kept trying to rationalize why the man who had taught me to become a man could snap so easily. As I got up I was able to make it to the front door of our house, but the door (which we have never locked in our ten years living their) was, of course, deadbolted. As I stood pounding at the door knowing my dad was only a few steps behind me, Jason, an old childhood friend opened the door and broke down in laughter, "Mike's dad took Dr. A. Seriously and wants to train him to fight like the assassins in Kill Bill." I thus came to realize that I was not Dave Reed after all, I was now "Mike" whose dad was trying to teach him to kill. I (no longer Mike) sat there in shock for a while and tried to work out the preceding events, but then I woke up.

And thus, Mr. Tarrantino, your goal to fuck with people has fucked with me.

I was in an airport, quite a nice new one as there were many glass walls and ceilings, something which reminds me of the shopping area at Schipol airport in Amsterdam or the United Terminal at Chicago O'Hare International Aiport. I glanced at my boarding pass and quickly saw 7:10. The time was 6:45. I hadn't been paying attention to the time apparently so I had to book it and I wasn't even past the security checkpoint. I went directly to the checkpoint, not even worrying about entering the lengthy queue. Stationed there were two idiots, one wearing a tattered grey t-shirt and the other wearing a red t-shirt with a large hole at his shoulders. I asked one of the men if he could just let me through the checkpoint now because my plane is boarding already and probably will close the door soon. I put my baggage on the stand and told him that he can hand-check all of it and can even wipe my shoes and clothes down to check for explosives residue. He didn't know what to do and the other idiot security guard had already left by then. He just led me to one of the other checkpoints but at least he let me skip the entire lengthy line, which appeared to contain at least two hundred people. The baggage checker then haphazardly searched through my two pieces of baggage. Meanwhile, I saw some friends, or maybe it was my parents, I'd actually prefer it be some long lost acquaintance for the sake of this story. Anyway, they told me that my flight was actually at 9:40 so I needn't hurry through the checkpoint. I looked back at my boarding pass and they were right.

I was near the front of the queue when we ended up boarding on the airplane. I had my passport and sack of silver coins ready, which were the requirements to enter this specific airplane. It was an international flight, which was great because I was trying to escape badly. There was some urgency in the flight, but I hadn't realized why. I think I was in England and I was going elsewhere. I had learned that this specific flight was being run by Belgians, or at least I made myself think so. There was some German on the outside of the airplane but it was a lengthy sentence and I didn't understand. The attendants were rotund and jolly; they were trying their best to accost us and comfort us while we entered the plane. There weren't seats everywhere and the seats were very basic. They were brown and had simple vinyl coverings. The silver metal frame outlined the two-seater but yet the frame jumped up at the end of the aisle seat so that it could make a nice handle to those passing by. In the back right corner, it was standing space only. The whole entire airplane interior almost looked like a bus, now that I think of it.

I was almost on the airplane at that time, the loading procedure was taking too much time and I wanted to ensure that I had a great seat. It was first come, first served for seating and almost all the good places were gone. A large bunch of us just burst through the entryway, I managed to sneak past the entryway without having to show passport or give up my silver coins, ha. I stayed behind the line but most of them went to the back seats on the right. By the time I was able to choose, I decided not to take the only seat left. For some reason, I knew that it was bad luck to be there. I opted to take the back right corner in the standing room only section. I noticed I had a few friends on this flight. There's one girl I remember from a while ago, she's a bit gentle and softspoken but very beautiful. There's a good group of fun girls and guys that I knew. There were four of them and I don't remember exactly who they were in real life, but I just know that they were outspoken and brash. Everyone seemed comfortable at that point except for me. I was entirely nervous because I knew that everything was sketchy, and I knew freedom was so close yet so far away.

Just before we took off, the attendants came around and gave us directions. Because this flight was so cheap and because we the passengers had so much urgency to flee the war-ridden country, we chose this specific airline. And because we are so graced with their lovely airline, we must do them a favor. We must not talk anymore because they needed their peace. We must not make much commotion so that they can keep track of every passenger on the airline. Since this specific aircraft relies on human power to fly, all of the back rows must now grab onto the large metal rod sticking out of the back of the aircraft and pump it up and down so that the wings of the aircraft will go up and down. Because I was the last one on the right side, I would control the rudder along with the guy across from me. The airbus then started moving forward, and we all began to start the wings. We weren't getting up in the air yet, so we tried harder. There was another airbus following us; it appeared as if there were other slaves in that one too. We managed to get into the air a small bit but it wasn't enough. I began to man the rudder as did my comrade. We quickly realized that if one of us did not follow the other, the aircraft tipped and would begin to fall. For the sake of all our lives, I just followed wherever he went. He wasn't really helping out because I had to pull the rudder from extreme right to extreme left. At one point I noticed that other airbus couldn't fly; they never got off the ground. I fear what happened to them. I looked over and realized that the other rudder man no longer had a rudder to control. I was the sole fate of this aircraft. I did my job, but we never truly got off the ground and my rudder scratched the runway tarmac and fell off.

Nonetheless, our captors were furious. It was the first time that we met the leader, the one we would fear for the rest of our journey. He did not come out to give us our safety spiel or offer us warm nuts. He had a nightstick and oddly he was dressed in a keystone kops uniform. He looked ridiculous but he instilled terror in us all. He would simply bring the nightstick upon our rudder man with a simple tap and our comrade died. The nightstick would light up and have a message, "You Die". At this time, I realized that my life was at stake and I would be the next one to go. He passed me and randomly struck others beside me. After making one pass through the airbus, he went back to his quarters to relax. About thirteen people were gone. The bus drove along a dusty road in a desert setting. We were going somewhere specific, but it is sure it was not our intended destination. We were trying to escape this man and his type. This was genocide in our country. I was being targetted for who I was and I didn't understand the rationale.

In the desert, there was a truck behind us with guns. However, this seemed like a friendly truck and my group of brash friends jumped out the back of the bus and boarded that truck. They quickly armed themselves and began to fire at our captors. It didn't matter. They were doomed from the beginning. My comrades were shot to death. And for this insurgency, the man came around and randomly tapped others to their death. Everytime he came around, we would each stare into his eyes as if we could tell him our plea to live only through our eyes. Some would glare at him and let him know of their anger and to hide their fear. Some would only glance at him and let him know their fear and to hide their anger. But there was no pattern to his killing. Except when a clear event happened. My friends didn't die in vain and they caused their death. They sacrificed so that they could choose their fate. It didn't help anyway and I didn't admire their choice.

We arrived in a small city, much like my hometown. As our bus went along its way, a truck in front of us spilled oil at us. It landed mostly at the back of the truck where I was sitting. I knew that the oil spill might signify something so I left and sat by a small child down the row that I had befriended during our ride. My friend had also been where the oil hit. The girl I spoke of earlier. The girl who I once desired but I was too shy to act and by the time we both felt synchronized she ended up going back to her ex-boyfriend. Her. The one who always tried to kiss me when she or I were drunk but I wouldn't let her because I knew she was attached except for that one time outside that gay bar when she kissed me and in the car ride home we held hands and she put her head on my shoulder. Her. The one who told me right away that she got engaged to her bastard ex-boyfriend now-fiancee. Yes, her.

And then the man arrived again. He came to deal out the death that should have come from the oil. We should have burned. He hit the man standing beside Her. He skipped Her. He hit the man in front of Her. He hig the man in front of the man in front of Her. Every single person in the back right corner of the vehicle except for Her were dealt the death. I don't know whether I would have gone if I had stayed there. I knew the system and I no longer was ashamed of controlling my fate. The man kept on looking back at Her, as if he had purposely left her for last and was letting her know that. At that moment a red-haired man sitting across from me rose up and made a gun figure with his hand against his head. He screamed that he wanted to take control of his own fate and die right now. He said that if it's going to happen at some point he wanted it to happen when he was ready. The man let the red-haired man die. I feared that the man would come for me or Her next, but I awoke from my dream.

I tried so hard to go back to my dream. I was terrified, but I knew I had to go back. I wanted closure and to know if I could control this dream from now on, but I couldn't fall asleep again. In some way I want to believe this dream was completely personal and has to deal with my big move to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania in a few months. However, the desert and oil spill and terrorist feeling makes me feel this was a heavily symbolic dream to present time.

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