I had a wacko dream last night.
I dreamt that my father, brother and I had just left some place, and were in a parking lot not too far away from home. My brother and father went into my father's Mustang, telling me to follow them home. I hop into my van, start it up, and realize that the Mustang was long gone. Not knowing what way they went, I quickly chose a path home that I knew of.
At some point, the van turned into me riding my bicycle. As I was riding that, a bunch of planes started going appearing above me, flying in the opposite direction, and they were all shaped like bloated missiles. Then, they started dropping bombs. They weren't strong bombs, they could not kill or dismember, just hurt really badly. I had to dodge them, on my bike. People were outside, as well, also trying to not get hit. Some were unsuccessful, and the ones that got hit dropped to the ground in pain. I got fairly good at dodging them, but the final plane dropped a bomb that landed in front of my bike (and later on in the dream, apparently hit me instead). I flew off my bike and fell in a ditch on the side of the road, dirty, and in pain.
The scene skipped to me arriving at my house. My mother was shocked to see me in the condition I was in, and my father was annoyed at the fact that I did not follow him home in his car. Feeling too tired to explain why I went the way I did, I just sat on the couch, and looked at the TV. A news program interrupted whatever was on, and it showed a dramatic montage of people getting hit by the bombs from the planes with sappy music playing in the background, and the montage had ended after a few seconds, with my own spill from the bike being the last one. A reporter then came on and told about terrorists flying by various local areas dropping bombs where I lived.
"That was me. See?" I said.
"Oh, that's terrible!" Said my mother.
My father didn't say anything, but stopped being annoyed at me.
In the following days after the incident, I was at a gathering, and I told a few friends about what had happened to me. Apparently, one of my friends was taking drugs and quit cold turkey once she heard I was one of the victims.
....*This next part of the dream I don't remember very clearly, but in this time, the terrorists turned into random delinquents who enjoyed ruining peoples' days*....
I was walking down the street the following day, and the delinquents appeared from their hiding places and started pelting more bombs. I quickly ran to the middle of the road, and somehow was able to slide on my belly down the road, using my legs to push. I eventually came to a road where delinquents weren't allowed, and a bunch of them went "awww" as I got there, and I got to wherever I wanted to go.
That night, My father took me and my brother to a Checkers fast food restaurant, though we went to a location that is a Dunkin' Donuts in real life. We ate in the car, and I told my father that I did not feel safe anymore, with the constant barrage of bombs.
The dream pretty much ended there. Very bizarre.