Dream of: 07 September 1995 "Father/Prosecutor/Murderer"

My brother Chris, my mother, another woman and I were in Ohio, probably near Columbus. We were planning to go to Portsmouth, about two hours south of where we were. We were standing on the shore of a large lake which stretched all the way from where we were to Portsmouth. With us we had a boat which looked like a rubber raft and which we planned to use to sail to Portsmouth. But I began to have doubts about the journey. I knew the water of the lake was icy. Since Chris had muscular dystrophy, if he were to fall into the water, there would be no way I could save him.

Besides the lake, there was another route overland which we could take, and I thought we might be able to get a truck and drive to Portsmouth. But finally we decided to just walk. I was much relieved that we weren't going to go by water since I thought walking was much safer. However I still wanted to take the boat. I compressed it into a bulk which I was able to strap to my chest. Although not heavy, it was quite bulky and cumbersome. Nevertheless I remarked how easy it was to carry such a big load when it was properly strapped to me.

Without further ado we set out walking for Portsmouth. Chris walked along with us and he didn't seem impaired by his muscular dystrophy. We kept up a steady march for two hours. When we had almost reached Portsmouth and were passing through a pretty residential neighborhood, I noticed something peculiar lying in someone's front yard. Looking closer at the object, I saw it was a Spiegel catalog about two meters tall and about 30 centimeters wide. It looked as if someone had thrown it onto the lawn just as a newspaper might be thrown into a yard. I picked the catalog up and immediately began looking through it for the swimsuit or lingerie section.

But before I could find anything which interested me, an unusual looking car passed by. The car looked more like a bed than a car, with headposts at the front and rear and a mattress in the middle. A fellow was sitting on the mattress near the headpost. As I watched the bed pass through a doorway, I was somewhat disconcerted, because although we still seemed to be on the street, we also seemed to be inside a house.

After the bed disappeared through the door, a man came walking out of the room into which the bed had vanished. The man was tall and thin and probably about 40 years old. The man immediately accused us of having killed the fellow who had been driving the bed, and furthermore the man said he was the father of the fellow driving the bed. He also said he was a prosecutor and clearly implied he was going to have us charged with the murder of his son. I knew we had had nothing to do with the death of his son. Seeing a phone sitting on a nearby table, I began screaming for him to call the police now while the evidence was fresh.

Suddenly I realized what had happened: the prosecutor had killed his own son. After all, we had just seen the son go into the room, and then the prosecutor had walked out. The prosecutor was the only one who had had the time to kill the son. Obviously the prosecutor was now going to try to pin the murder on us.

As the prosecutor stepped toward me, I defended myself with the Spiegel catalog. I hit him with it in the forehead as I screamed, "He killed his son! This bastard killed his son!"

He screamed back, "No! I did not kill my son!"

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