02-13-12; Drug Deal Gone Wrong

In my dream last night, I was sitting at Blair's (my dad's gas station) in a convertible with my step sister. My step mom was in her van in front of us with her window down, and dad was standing outside talking to all of us. All of a sudden, things went very still and the sun got really bright. My dad frantically tells us to leave because a drug deal just went down and it turned ugly, and people may be looking for revenge. My step sister blankly stares at him until he yells "get out of here!" She punches the gas, squeals the tires and leaves rubber tire marks as we peel out of the driveway. As we race down M33, she puts her blinker on to turn into our driveway. I beg her to not go home because the drug dealers know where we live, but she can't hear me because the wind is rushing in our ears. She passes our driveway and heads back to the stop sign, but we are stuck behind a maroon SUV. I am laying down in the back seat because I am so scared, but I decide to peak my head up and look out the windshield. At this moment, a grizzly looking man catches my eye, turns around in the driver's seat and fires four gunshots into my step sisters upper body/head. Panicking, I slump over in the seat, pretending to be dead as well so that he wouldn't shoot me. I prayed that I could hold still and play dead and maybe the gunman would think that he hit me with a bullet as well, or that one bullet went through my step sister and hit me. I am so overcome by fear at this point in my dream that I can't really remember what is happening, but somehow we are driving down the road again. How can my stepsister be driving if she is dead? Maybe the maroon SUV is towing us, I am not sure. There are people lined up on the side of the road watching, all the while I attempt to play dead. I am also watching myself from the side of the road,w illing myself to keep my eyes closed, yet they flutter open anyways. The news camera zooms in on my fluttering eyes and breathing body, but the shooter doesn't notice. He keeps on driving.

The last thing I remember is laying on an autopsy table, still trying to play dead, because I think the drug dealer has paid the funeral home director to dispose of our bodies secretly.