It was a party celebrating nothing in particular in my house in the afternoon. I don’t think it was for me or any of my family, strangely enough.
This couple had heard that a guy was going to bring a gun and planned to bail. I doubted the rumor was true but followed them outside anyway. I saw a red truck!s in a driveway slam shut as I hid behind a bush. A man with a rifle paced toward the steps. I never took a good look at him.
All I remember was that he was short, white, sickly thin, old, had white hair, and wore a lumberjack kind of outfit with a red plaid shirt, dark wash jeans and brown leather boots. He pointed the gun towards the couple and they went inside. I tried to hide deeper in the bush, but he pointed the gun towards me, and I debated bolting until I felt the cool tip of the gun rubbing against my forehead.
Even as I went inside, he kept the gun pointed towards the back of my head, almost ignoring anyone else. I tried to convince him not to kill me. I told him I was a good girl, that I never did drugs or anything else “degenerate”, that there were no drugs or sex in this party and that if there was, it wasn’t my fault. I said, “Please. I want to still experience life. Please don’t take it away from me.”
He relented, saying that I was pure, but walked out the back door and started building a fence around the door, maybe as a barrier. My brother was trying to lecture him on how to build it, but I told him not to, fearing the man would get angry. As we talked about what to do about the hostage situation, I told my brother to keep his lips “unreadable” like a ventriloquist so that the old man would not be able to read our lips through the window.
Eventually, someone lured him out of the yard. I heard police sirens blaring from the front. Next thing I knew they were arresting the old man as people cheered and laughed. Those people were not older like the rest of the partygoers. There were my peers- people I had seen in my classes, talking to once or twice but never being close friends with. I felt like it would be wrong to watch him and take satisfaction, so retreated into the house.
When I came out again he was gone. I panicked and asked the crowd where he was. Somebody said he died, and another girl said the police man shot him in the head. I felt so guilty. I felt like I missed him, and I felt like I let him down. For some reason I thought I had an obligation to prevent his death despite the fact that he would’ve killed me at the beginning with only a moment’s hesitation. The dream ended with me plopping down on the front steps of my house and crying. It was evening then.
Not sure how much background information is needed but I can give more in the afternoon. I am a black girl , late teens. I’ve been struggling with feeling lonely due to not having many close friends. I feel like my family members resent me or don’t want me for their own individual reasons and I’ve been shutting them out for a while. I feel pessimistic about my future, imagining I might turn to drugs or sex to make up for the void I have when I go to college. I don’t have a fear of drugs too much– I don’t want to do them, I think hard drugs can be harmful but don’t feel any hated for smokers or potheads. Sex is something I feel a bit scared of. I’m a virgin.