doghouse_reilly

So I was walking down the sidewalk in a seedy part of town with my dad, and there was a general feeling of sketchiness in the air. We walked up to this house, where some generally sketchy looking individuals were coming out of a generally sketchy looking house, and as they walked down the front steps of the porch, being generally sketchy in general, me and my dad whipped out guns and lit em up. I think I opened fire immediately following my dad, because I was shocked to be shooting people for (apparently) no reason. But somehow I realized they were drug dealers, and therefore it was justified (according to dream logic.) But I completely had that adrenaline high that would follow the act of murdering several people, and I was paranoid that we needed to evacuate the area immediately. My dad, however, was very nonchalant about the whole situation, and casually walked over to a parked car and started hotwiring it. I was still feeling the "fight or flight" response, and he wouldn't open the door (I think he was mooning me from the driver's seat), so I whacked the passenger window a few times with the butt of my revolver until the glass smashed, and then I heard him yell at me, "Dammit! You got glass in my eye!" But I was all concerned that I needed more bullets, I only had two left in my gun and I kept insisting I needed more. My dad assured me that I just needed to look in the glove compartment, but at first all I could find was a box of shotgun shells, and I freaked out even more. But I rooted around a little more in the glove compartment and I found some shells that fit in the revolver (even though they appeared to be large caliber rifle bullets). After that, we drove to several other places around the slums and proceeded to assassinate several more people, shooting them in the back as they tried to run away and then walking up slowly and putting two more bullets in the back of their heads each time. We must have killed 4 or 5 people in the same way. And every time, I would get very nervous and start insisting that we needed to escape before the cops showed up or rival drug dealers caught up to us, and my dad was always totally nonchalant about my panic. Then we got back in the car and I searched for more bullets, but this time I found an odd bag in the glove compartment, and when I opened it, it was a big clear plastic bag of finely powdered heroin. And the bag was leaking all over my hand and my lap, which scared me with thoughts of trace evidence, so I panicked even more. At that point, my dad told me I should lick the heroin off my fingers, because "it will help kill the pain," even though I wasn't wounded or anything, but I did so and it tasted incredibly weird. At that point, the police sirens I'd been hearing got much louder, which made me almost lose it with panic, and my dad just rolled the car to a stop in a cul de sac, and he stopped responding, so I threw open the door and fled the scene right when the police cars showed up.

Then, I woke up, completely gripped in the an adrenaline fear, but immediately fell back asleep and dreamed I was at some mall that was also a sci-fi convention and also an office where I once worked, and I saw lots of people dressed as Gandalf, and I described my previous dream to my old co-workers and we ordered a pizza and played darts. And then I woke up again.