terrible ramblings

I checked my gun. It was in my old school bag. I put it away.

They barged in. There were five of them. My father came in unwillingly. They hadn’t found the others. Or they were dead, as I looked at the gym in one of their hands. Only one of them had one. My bag, it was too far away. The one with the gun seemed to be the leader. They all positioned themselves around me. I put my hands in front of me, visible, and made a gesture that I would not do anything. They believed me. But it was also true. The man with the gun pushed me in the stomach, I backed away. They were not wearing masks. Their faces were unremarkable, entirely forgettable.

I had no time to think. You don’t, when a gun is pointed at you. Flight or fight shuts down your processes except for fear and concern for well being. I wonder now what would happen were I thinking properly and not just shut down. Not in this weird sort of tunnel vision.

They pointed a gun. Now everything was blurry. An altercation between the thieves and the man with the gun spit out two shots. Two were dead instantly. The others did not seem fazed. They were following along obediently.

I jumped him. He spat out a shot. It missed somehow. Unbelievably. I had the gun. Now the tables were turned.

***

He was angry. Incredibly so. I had never, no rarely, ever seen him this angry. My head was buzzing with adrenaline. Not excitement. Not fear. Just buzzing. With energy. Tunnel vision. There was not much else there. He was angry. And I knew there was only one thing that happened in this state of his.

Let me clarify. My father is not a drunkard. He is very loving, though he is of the old school, where he doesn’t know how to show it. He provides for us. He genuinely cares about us a lot. He is the kind of person who is a mountain of resolve, of patience.

But like every mountain that stands tall and does not move, he has a fire bubbling inside him. The lava stands still. It builds at a glacial pace. When it spurts out, it spits out destruction like which has never been seen and will never be seen after.

He was angry. Incredibly so. And I knew there was only one thing that happened in this state of his. I winced

***

And I woke up. Heart racing, I scrambled to remember. Mind grasping at the dreams as they trickled through the cupped hands of my memory like water. Gasping, heart rising, feeling sick. I don’t know why. They were just dreams. And yet, they were so vivid. So well remembered. So clear and lucid. Maybe they didn’t have good cohesion. But they were definitely very clear. I wonder why. Did this mean anything? I’m not a superstitious person. But I was a little scared.