Dreams From My Father Novels & Stories

That night, I dreamed of Carlo Moretti. In the dream, my father was much younger, his face free of the lines of stress and sickness that had defined his final years. He looked happy, standing in a sunlit garden somewhere far away from the concrete of New York, long before the rise of the empire, long before the cycle of violence had claimed his soul. He looked at me through the quiet fog of the dream, a soft, proud smile on his face. "You did so much better than me, son." "How?" I asked him.

The dreams kept getting worse. They came the same as they always did …not the shapes or the sounds so much as the memory of a hand that did not flinch. My father moved through those nights like a lesson I could not unlearn. Orders, cold and final. Fires merciless and simple. Faces that had never done me wrong fell under his judgement like wheat under a sickle. Sometimes I woke before they reached the gate. Sometimes I woke with the taste of iron in my mouth and the echo of his voice telling me why it had to be done. I hated him and I obeyed him. The truth of that hit every time the dream found me.

To her, I was still strong and capable, the man who built a billionaire-dollar corporation from the ground up, a person who took care of things and stuck to his word. I didn’t want her to see me falling apart, to know I wasn’t as strong as I acted. So, though it hurt like hell to say no to temptation, I put the phone back down. Going to Raven’s bedside, I smoothed some hair away from her forehead. Her eyelids were soft with no sign of movement beneath them. “Raven,” I whispered. “It’s me. It’s Dad. Can you hear me, honey?” My throat tightened before I could say any more, and I bit down on my lip. That strangled cry that wanted to come out wasn’t going to. Not on my watch.

For some time I kept consulting a psychiatrist and using the natural remedies he prescribed me, but they didn't do much good. When I slept, my dreams were the worst possible. I remembered that damn day twelve years ago, when I went down the stairs following in Jessy's footsteps and we found our father lying on the kitchen island counter. He was like a doll, flaccid, soft, and totally covered in blood.

David’s POV Five Years Later. I am a ghost, trapped in a cycle of regret for one thousand eight hundred days. It’s hard to believe how fast time has slipped away. How is Samantha? How is my child? Where is she? Those three questions never leave my mind. "Daddy! Look! I drew a big ship!" The door to my study swung open, and a four-year-old boy came running in with a piece of paper in his hand. Leo.

I whisper, continuing my path to her core. “Bu—” she starts, just as I plunge my tongue into her depths. She moans, and I know it’s the last I’ll hear of that damn dream. Jaden I’m lying on my sofa reading when my phone buzzes. I reach over to the coffee table, grab it, and see Dad’s name. “Hey, Dad.” “Your mother had a dream… about a fish. She’ll probably stop by soon,” he says immediately. Mom’s had many dreams before. Dad never takes them seriously, but Brin, Ami, and I know they’ve often led to us getting in trouble.

He asked and I paused, one lie coming straight right up. "I try my best but with the whole wedding I haven't been doing so much" I said, which was technically somewhat maybe not entirely a lie but then that was not the truth either. "Hmm". "What is this dream you keep having, can you remember anything?" I asked genuinely worried about my father, things never bothered him and for a dream to do so it was serious to him. "Not really, but I am wrapped in this angry force, like something is angry and when the force leaves fear creeps in, I feel something is wrong and might happen"

I didn't believe him at first either, but after a week, he didn't do much to me except cuddle me to sleep. Due to the fatigue of my body for many days, being able to lie on the familiar bed, I gradually fell asleep without realizing it. In my dream, I saw my father. His clothes were tattered, and there was blood everywhere. He turned his head to look at me, then slowly walked into the dark forest. Terrified, I jumped up and hugged his arm, trying to scream not to leave me. But no matter how much I begged, my father left. He leaves me alone in the middle of an ample, cold space behind countless ghosts chasing me.

my mother said "What are you talking about, Mum?" I asked as my mother took my hands in hers "Honey, we didn't initially come from Silvertail." "What!" "Mom, you're saying we're from a pack called Red Moon, and the men in my dream were my father and brother?" I asked in disbelief. My mother hesitated, tears welling up in her eyes. "Yes, dear. I'm sorry we didn't tell you sooner, but it was the only way to keep us safe."

tried to touch him. "Daddy?" I called him. His blinking eyes ceased. Like the sunset sun, some parts of his body were slowly disappearing. "It is time to go," he said, echoing in my mind. At that moment, I realized what was happening. My father left me a note and disappeared before I could leap to embrace him. "Hello, Moon Pie," I read as I picked up the little piece of paper. "I regret that this is how things must end. Staying a little longer would have been nice. I sincerely missed you. Say hello to your mum. Do not forget what I said about facing your fears. Greetings from your devoted father." "Oh no. It is not happening. Is this a dream?" I asked myself. I needed someone who could answ