I'm in a big city. (Probably American, and inspired by all the police series I actually don't watch, but that are inevitably advertised in between the football matches I do see...) It's late, I hear sirens, and I'm thinking of the number of recent murders in the city. Evidently I'm some kind of detective. I turn a corner, and there he is - the serial killer we've been hunting for weeks! A woman in his arms still, dead no more than a minute. Strangled by him. Then he turns to look at me, slowly. It's my father! He smiles at me and says "this was no. 40. Happy 40th, my dear!"
- I wake up with a pounding heart, and for 10 minutes I can't think straight. My father, though no saint, has always been nice to me and a good friend. And now, a raving lunatic... I see my whole life go to pieces! Eventually I realise it was just a dream.
Gee, who'd have thought turning 40 would be that scary, huh?
That is really creepy. Interesting connection you made with your birthday, even though dreaming of our parents are bad people after all mustn't be so rare...I think.
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