The first nightmare I can remember, at least the first time I woke up genuinely scared and freaked out about what I had just dreamt, was around when I was 16. Ironically, I had always prided myself on never having nightmares; I guess I was still just a normal boy wanting to be like everyone else. It seems as if it is the time when you realize you aren't that your nightmares tart.
I saw several airplaines cricling the sky, unable to land due to the awful weather, which felt big, strong, and mighty as God's Wrath, thunder and lightning, with huge, silver and shiny flying machines so close to the ground I could almost touch them. They felt real.
One by one, as if pulled by a magnetic force, they started to crash down, as falling bodies, weightless, and crashed loud, with a crackling explosion. The vision still makes me scared.
All the airplanes crashed.
We went back home and my mom and uncle were talking about survivors, apparently one of my friends parents had died (he did eventually die; murdered).
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