"I'll trade you one for two nightmares of mine,
I have some where I die,
I have some where we all die." - Bright Eyes, Hit the Switch
They say you can't die in your own dream. Nonsense. Here's how I did it.
I was in my parents' apartment. The time was twenty-some years ago. Everything was correct - the topography of the apartment, everyone's age - my brother and I in our twenties, my parents fiftiesh, my son (who was absent) around five. My parents and I opened the door to the bedroom and there lying on the floor by the bed were two bodies. One was my brother, who was in some kind of fit, but conscious. The other one, lifeless, was me. I cradled my brother's head trying to calm him and I told him my son would need him as a friend. My parents were strangely detached, just there as observers. Nobody mentioned the body, but it seemed to be the reason my brother was distressed and at death's door himself. And, of course, my son would need him, because he wouldn't have me.