Nightmare (Updated)

Nightmare
 
The nightmares first started when I was five. I still remember every detail of the nights when I used to wake up unable to breathe and call for daddy's protection.
 
But one night in particular stood out from the rest.
 
It was stormy outside, thunder echoed through the sky, and lightning danced cloud to cloud. I didn’t like storms at the time – they used to always scare me - but on that particular night it was all quite soothing. I could hear the rain tapping against my window and the occasional boom of thunder relaxed me to the point where my consciousness slowly started to drift away.
 
Every time lightning struck it illuminated the pale green walls of my room and soon after a bit more time had passed, I soundly fell asleep and the dream begun.
 
They always begun with something happy. This time, it started off with me at a fair with my father. He had me on his shoulders with cotton candy and we were walking towards a Ferris wheel.
 
It was quite a big one too. It stood hundreds of feet high with shiny lights, blinking off and on, decorating each of the carts.
 
We got on and the ride begun. As we ascended however, the ride begun to stutter and stall. The cart we were in shook with a small metallic rumbling feeling. With a worried look my father leaned out and peered down at the control booth. And as he looked over realizing the issue below was nearly resolved, I sat quietly behind him trying to suppress the urge to push him over the railing and out of the cart....

Oh, how beautiful it would be. To see him tumbling through the air.

I knew such a thought wasn’t true. I knew that it wouldn’t be a pretty sight. But the urge kept welling up every time I tried to suppress it.

Eventually though, the urge got the better of me.
 
So I did it.
 
Gently walking up behind him, all in just one soft, swift motion, I gave one nice solid shove; and there he went, little three year old me sent my father plummeting to his inevitable demise. As he hit the ground, even from the top of the ride, I could hear his bones breaking and cracking -crunching under the severity of the impact. And as I looked down at the broken and bloody mass of organic tissue from the top of the ride I did not scream. I did not cry. I just stared.
 
Now with normal people, that would be the end of the nightmare. I was not so fortunate.
As I exited the ride and walked towards my now dead father – or I thought - he slowly begun to rise. Picking himself up from a large puddle of his own gooey, red blood, he reached his full height and looked at me. As I scanned him with my eyes, head to toe, I noted the odd angle his neck was in. It was very unnatural and certainly by the position alone indicated that he should be dead.
 
Staring into my eyes, he then pulled a small pistol from the waistband of his jeans, placed the barrel under his chin, and cocked the hammer. Now he smiles and says to me, "you know this is your fault, don't you, kiddo?"

I just stared blankly back, not really sure how to respond – no, I just didn’t feel any emotion at all, and thereby didn’t care what he said.

He pulled the trigger.

The last thing I remember seeing from the dream was the bright red spray of his blood, the strong metallic smell that emanated from him, and the sound of his body thudding as his body once again, for a second time, hit the ground.
 
After that I woke up, got out of bed, and walked into the hallway bathroom where I vomited until my throat was sore and my belly hurt. This was just the beginning of what was {and still is} a long road.