Dreams From My Father Novels & Stories

There was still no relief from the burden pressing down on my chest, and I fell onto my bed, staring at the candle. “Why doesn't she speak? why can't she speak for herself?” “Urgh!” I hissed. “Shes just fishing for pity. She is a master at that.” I kept thinking about it while I lay down, eyes closed. That night, I dreamed. I stood in an open field, the bright moonlight cast over me. The grass gently fluttered. My father could be made out in the distance. He looked exactly like I remembered, tall and calm, with kindness. I ran to him calling out, "Father! I've missed you!"

My father said, his voice warm with affection, “We are united by our bond as a family and by our unwavering commitment to each other.” I smiled and Father returned my smile. “Why were you up earlier?” Father asked, causing my smile to temporarily fade away. I hesitated, a bit unsure of whether to share the strange vision that had plagued my dreams. But his reassuring smile made me comfortable, so I began to recount what happened in my dream with the black wolf.

My Best Friend's Father (2) REBECCA I woke up in the middle of the night with tears on my face, my heart beating very fast. In my dream, I saw my father again. He was lying on the floor in that dirty room with the needle in his arm. He looked at me and tried to speak but no words came out of his mouth. Then the dream changed. My mother was in the hospital bed, thin and weak from cancer. She held my hand and whispered that she was sorry for leaving me alone. I cried and begged her not to go, but she closed her eyes and left me.

I sighed. There was a time in my life when I wanted nothing more than to hear these exact words from my father. I’d lie awake at night, dreaming about the day he’d realize what a mistake he’d made in favoring Beatrice over me. Sometimes the dreams were touching and sweet, sometimes they were vengeful. It didn’t matter how they had played out in my head though, but the ending was always the same. In those dreams, I instantly forgave my father and we hugged. In those dreams, it was a turning point in our relationship, and I finally got my daddy back. In those dreams, the scene was emotional, and heart-wrenching, and so bittersweet.

Aurora. I know that man. I've seen his face in my dreams, thousands of times before. But they were just dreams, this is, whatever this is. Why would he be here, does that mean he is real. I don’t even know if this ghost walk thing is real, so perhaps I am just dreaming. He looks like I remember. Black hair, pale skin, golden eyes. In my dreams he would smile at me and tell me he loves me. In my dreams, I called him Daddy. But they were just that, dreams. I don’t have a father, I never actually saw this man for real. He was just a piece of my childish imagination, trying to give me something to cling too when life with the hunters felt too hard.

"Vector, please. Please, please, Vector!" I woke with a start, my eyes wide, my chest heaving. Beads of perspiration filled my forehead, and my palms felt wet. It was the same dream. The dream that had slowly become engraved in my mind. I never got to stay to watch the rest, as I had immediately been dragged away, the howls penetrating everything in me. That man had been my father, and to date, I do not know if Vector had pulled that trigger or if he had left him with the pieces he had made of one leg. The bastard had been stained with my father's blood from head to toe.

My dreams started with the smell of smoke. I was twenty-one again, barefoot and breathlessly running through a burning hallway. I heard my father screaming my name from somewhere I couldn’t specify. Shrill, loud, a call for help, but the roar of the flames dwarves his voice. The wallpaper of our house curled like dead skin. I turned back towards my dad, but all I could see was his silhouette vanishing towards the ceiling in a trail of smoke. He stretched out his hand to me, but it never reached me.

NATHALIA'S POV As I slept, exhausted from another grueling day of servitude, I found solace within the confines of my dreams. And tonight, my slumber delivered me a precious gift - a chance to reunite with my father. As I closed my eyes, the familiar smell of my father's tobacco smoke filled the air. I turned around, and there he was, standing before me, his warm smile melting away the pain in my heart. "Daddy!" I cried, rushing into his arms. "Is it you?"

Then, after a long beat—“What did you see?” I hesitated. How could I tell him? That my father—a man I had never known—had spoken to me? That the power inside me wasn’t an accident? That I was never supposed to be weak? Derek’s patience thinned. “Diva. Tell me.” I forced the words out. “My father.” His entire body went still. “What?” I exhaled shakily. “He was in my dream. He spoke to me.” I clenched the sheets, grounding myself. “He said I was almost ready.”

came her response, “given her lifestyle I was worried my father would be some good-for-nothing scoundrel. When she told me my father was Richard Cuban, I think a part of me was relieved my DNA was not all messed up.” She picked up a note from the oak table that sat in a corner. I had seen my father hunched over that same table many times pouring through financial statements and tax returns. “I think this is meant for you,” Susan said, handing me the note. I recognised Richard's handwriting just by taking a glance. He had always instilled in me that good handwriting was a man's finest strength. “It shows your sincerity,” he would often say. I read the letter. Dear son, I'm not sure when this