“You want to save your son?” said the man with a gun pointed at my head. He had a shaved head, a bright white button down shirt, and spoke with a thick Russian accent.
The situation was desperate and it had come out of nowhere. I had no idea who these men were, why they had abducted us, or what they wanted. One of his hired muscles stood holding back my struggling and terrified child while three other men kept me pinned to my knees.
I kept trying to yell to Noah that it would be okay. Just cooperate. We’ll get out of this. But I couldn’t say anything, not through the tight gag they had tied around my mouth.
The man with the gun suddenly turned the gun toward Noah. My heart raced and I began mentally pleading with him to use it on me instead. All anyone would have heard and seen were more grunts through the gag and more failed attempts to loosen the grips these men had on me. As he watched me struggle, Noah began sobbing uncontrollably. “Daddy? Daddy? What’s happening?” he managed to squeak out between cries.
“Show me how much you love your son,” the Russian man said. “Bite your own tongue off right now to save him.”
I immediately nodded. The men violently yanked me to my feet and removed the gag. I used the opportunity to scream, “Noah it’ll be…”
I stopped my outburst as the Russian man pulled back the hammer of his gun and pointed it even more forcefully at my child. “Bite it off now, or he dies,” he very calmly said.
And I bit hard into my tongue without thinking at all.
And that woke me up from my crazy dream.
Or I should say, biting into my own tongue in my sleep woke me up from that crazy dream.
My mouth seared with pain. I reached up and felt warm fresh blood inside my mouth. I had definitely bitten into my tongue. What the f… WHO DOES THAT?!i
It was the same night I wrote about in my last blog post. Noah was asleep in the bed next to me, oblivious to all of it. Unaware that I loved him so much I’d bite my own friggin’ tongue off apparently.
God, that dream was so vivid. So real. I remember every detail. Every fear. Every emotion. The panic. The desperation. I am haunted by every struggle and desperate glance that my child gave me in that dream.
And as silly as it sounds, biting into my own tongue in my sleep didn’t affect me near as much as the dream itself did. I still don’t know what to take from it, but it affected me. Deeply. Every time I take ibuprofen to help ease the pain in my tongue, and every time I eat anything at all, I briefly relive the details of that dream. And I don’t like it one bit.
Dan Pearce, Single Dad Laughing
PS. Would love your translations of this dream!