I woke up from a horrid dream. I saw Uncle Ali standing at the edge of my bed. I seemed younger in the dream. He was coming towards me to lay with me, and I kept telling him it wasn’t right.
“Please Uncle, don't do this,” I pleaded.
He didn’t listen. He kept coming closer and closer. He touched my blanket and came close to my face. There was a knife under my pillow. I always kept a knife under my pillow for protection at night. He kissed my neck, and I felt his tongue going down my chest area. He held his back with my left hand, and with my right hand eased into the pillow beside me. I pulled out the knife and stabbed him in the back. He screamed.
I woke up.
Sweat dripped from my forehead. I looked at the clock. It was a few minutes past 8am. I could not shake off what I had just dreamt about.
Why was I feeling like I killed Uncle Ali?
Why was I dreaming about him?
He was dead. There was still a part of me that had not reconciled with the finest situation. Maybe I…
