07/25/2000:
Strange little creatures.
They were black and hairy and about the size of a small dog.
They had razor-sharp teeth and claws, and could jump 300 feet or more forward.  They were ripping the community apart.  I was with some friends and visited a medical building, and it was completely deserted, except of one of the reception rooms, where there were piles of intestines and such, and the bodies that used to hold them.
Every time we walked the halls, we did so with immense caution, afraid that these creatures might leap out of a dark corner and tear us to pieces.

The feelings of paranoia carried over to the morning and I still feel shreds of it as I type this...

03/10/2000:
Disturbing to say the least, these dreams woke me up shaking and crying many times during the night.
He was dead. My Dad had died on my way home to see my parents. Killed while playing a harmless game of baseball. He hit in the head with a ball straight off the end of the bat. There was no hope. He died upon impact of the ball.
May I say here that it is very disturbing to come home and find that your father for life has died in your absence. There was much crying of myself, my Mom, and sister, as expected.

My Dad is back for the next dream,but the circumstances aren’t much better.
Dad and I are teamed up against a group of gangsters in this one. Needless to say, they have many guns. We have the following: one silver-plated .357 Magnum revolver, one black break-action 6mm pistol that only holds 2 bullets, a black and silver sniping rifle with scope, and a .44 magnum pistol with clip. My Dad was wearing the outfit he has on in the B&W picture I have on my wall (the gangster picture) and he carries the .44 magnum. I’m dressed in similar clothes and carry the other 2 handguns. The rifle is our reserve.

We dodge, shoot, run, and hide, but there are too many of them. Uncle David shows up for about 2 seconds, to tell us to watch our backs (duh), then he is gone (gee, thanks Dave). My Dad got taken down by a shotgun blast to the back. I take several of them down, and get to my car, stowing both of my guns under the seat. Two girls got into the passenger seat of my car at this point. They were very beautiful. They were also the enemy. One tried to get close to me, acting all sweet. The other one was laughing, saying she was the one that got my Dad. I chuckled in ill humor as I pulled the .357 out from under my seat. She said, "You call that a gun?"

I shot her through the neck. She looked surprised somehow as her lifeblood drained out and she slumped forward in her seat. The other was still trying to act sweet as I placed the barrel of the 6mm against her forehead and pulled the trigger...