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A few nights ago I had a dream about my dad and I. He was sitting in a chair and I was sitting on the floor in front of him. He had a revolver in his hand for some reason. My dad isn't violent at all and the last thing he would own is a gun, particularly a revolver. We were probably arguing about something because I remember feeling pretty exhausted and worn out at the time. So anyway, I guess he'd finally reached his limit and was sick and tired of me and the way I was/am. He pointed the gun at his temple. I pleaded with him not to do it. I mean, who wants their father to die? Who wants to watch their father end his own life? He didn't listen to me. It seems that he'd rather kill himself than deal with me any longer. He pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Russian Roulette is a bitch. I didn't realize it until I took the gun from him, but there was only one bullet. I cried and cried and cried as I held the gun and as he sat there. I could have lost him forever. I wouldn't have had a father anymore if the bullet had been where I thought it was. And I cried. I woke up crying because it was so intense. I don't ever remember having a dream like that. Sure I've had those random dreams where I'm walking and I'm about to trip on something and my leg jerks right as it happens, startling me awake. But this was just too much. I really don't want my father to die. I know it'll happen at some point. But I don't want it to happen any time soon. And certainly not in such a manner as I'd dreamt of.