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I had a dream last night right out of a Stephen King novel.

I was in a grocery store in Australia. My ex-classmate Daniel was there and he wanted to go half on the groceries with me. I was about to pay at the counter when I remembered that I was broke from buying Thong's birthday pressie and so I asked the Indian shopkeeper lady where the nearest ATM was located. "Sarawak Plaza," she replied.

I was astonished. "You mean there's a Sarawak Plaza in Australia!?!?"

"Oh, you mean Australia? There's one at Strawberry Farm."

"Is that near here?"

I can't exactly recall her reply, but it was so long-winded, I just cut her off and handed her my credit card upon which she became a real bitch and started muttering and insulting immigrants under her breath.

I was driving home when suddenly it hit me.

WTF WAS I DOING IN AUSTRALIA!?!?

Like a flashback scene from the movies, I became a little kid again. Walking beside me was a big gweilo guy. In my dream, I knew that he was my dad. I even called him dad. But I was extremely cautious of him - like I knew there was something not so right about the fella. Dream-dad was walking me home from school, telling me to avoid a certain house along the way because it had vicious dogs that almost ate my sister up before.

I nodded agreeably. I was a happy kid.

Dream-dad picked up an old baseball mitt lying by the roadside and tossed it at me. Laughing, I caught it and tossed it back.

Suddenly as dream-dad was tossing the mitt to me again, a boy popped out of nowhere and caught the mitt mid-air. "Hey, give it back!" I shouted.

The boy tossed the mitt to me. I tossed it to dream-dad. The boy watched us and sneered, "Man, you can't throw for shit."

"Can too!" I retorted, catching the mitt.

By that time we were surrounded by a bunch of other kids - some playing softball, some jumping rope, others just watching us. I prepared to toss the mitt back to dream-dad.

Out of the blue, another boy appeared. He was much smaller than the first boy and he stood right in front of dream-dad. "Throw it to me! Throw it to me!" he squeaked excitedly.

Dream-dad got really, really mad. Gently, he took the little boy's arm. Then, quiet as a cat, he bent down and retrieved something from the ground.

A hammer.

Immediately, I ran. A split-second later, I heard terrified screams and all the other kids were running helter-skelter down the street too. I knew what had happened, but still I was compelled to look back.

I saw a lump of sodden, bloody mass on the grass. There was a hand attached somewhere, and also a shock of hair, but the rest of the little boy was literally mincemeat. Dream-dad was grunting and pounding away furiously like a rabid carpenter.

Waking up from the dream was another story. Like a deep-sea diver swimming to the surface, I took almost forever to break the surface of reality. When I opened my eyes, I was gripped by the icy chill that engulfed every inch of my body. Immediately I curled up tightly under the comforter. It took me a few minutes to gather whatever was left of my courage to reach out and grab my handphone from the bedside table.

4am is not a good time to die of acute myocardial infarction.