I'm remembering my dreams again. This always happens in spurts.

last week:

I am riding shotgun. Mom is driving. Grandma and Kelly are in the backseat. We are about to drive through an intersection. The light is green.
A car swerves in front of us. Our brakes screech. Everything turns black.
We are still in the car. The car is in a shopping mall. There are lots and lots of other cars in here too. No one knows how we got here. Terrorists are walking around with guns and walkie-talkies. They are holding us and our cars hostage. The rules are: No smoking. No soda.
Grandma lights up a Kool. A terrorist taps his gun on her window and shakes a finger at her. She stubs it out and pouts. Kelly whines that she is hungry. Mom is hysterically hyperventilating and crying.
We are parked next to a jewelry store. I get out of the car to look at the diamonds in the window. A terrorist walks by. I ask him if I can have a piece of jewelry. He breaks the window and lets me have my pick. He isn't so bad after all. I go back to the car and show everyone my new sparkly things. They are not impressed. I get bored with the dream and wake up.

last night:

I am visiting my cousin Brad. In my dream, he is a redneck. He and his friends want to rob a bank. I think this sounds like fun. We get in a white truck and drive to a warehouse to pick up something (I never knew what) first. On the way back to the truck a security van drives by. Brad and his friend say shit and duck behind our truck. I stand and look into the van's lights. I want the driver to see my face. I realize that I do not really want to rob the bank.
We are driving to the bank. I am riding shotgun with my feet on the dashboard. Brad is in the back, and his friend is driving. There are tall black trees on both sides of the car. All we can see is the road. The road is covered with blood. There are dead animals heaped everywhere, piled up high. A mutilated, dying cow runs past the truck. Blood is everywhere. Our tires make it fly up and spatter on the windshield.
And then we drive out of the black forest and the road is clean and there are no more animals and the windshield is clean. Brad says that we are almost to the bank. I say, "I do not want to rob the bank. I will not help you." Brad's nameless friend slams the brakes and his face twists into something ugly. He is furious. He wants to kills me. Brad sits passively in the backseat, looking out the window. His friend grabs one of my breasts in each hand. He will rape me before he kills me. My feet are still on the dashboard. I kick up and around and stick my right heel in his throat and DIG. I hear a very bad noise. I wake up.
The twisted thing is that this did not feel like a nightmare. I was not afraid. I was angry at Brad's friend for wanting to hurt me, and I was curious about the blood. But neither of those things frightened me. I think there's something wrong with me.