My step-father and brother were with me in a swimming pool. It was a brilliant, warm day, and the water was crystal blue. They were both holding my head under the water. Looking up through the swirling, distorting surface, I saw they were smiling and even laughing. Not knowing how I got here, first I thought this was in play. I had arrived in this dream in the midst of some other fun-loving activity that only happened to appear a bit sinister at the moment. I struggled to understand how it was playful to hold my head under the water, the two of them, with me flailing.
When my struggling appeared to pose a problem, my brother held my head under the water with both hands, and my step-father produced a pistol. He held the gun to the side of my head. I felt its muzzle pressed against the tender part of my temple under the water. He was pushing hard against my head and it hurt, but worse, I could palpably feel the anticipation of a bullet darting out and into my skull.
He pulled the trigger. No pain, no change, only an awareness of a hole where there should not have been a hole, straight through from one side to the other, and the cold water rushing in to fill the space. The cold felt uncomfortable, but there was no pain; rather there was peace.
In order to be dead, I had to still myself. I felt my brother release his grip on my head. I saw them looking at me, distorted looking up through the surface of the lapping water. They both turned away, leaving me to float. Unsure if I should live or die, unsure if death had a certain feeling that was different from life, wondering if I could die and not know it, surrounded by all that sparkling blue, cobwebbed with shimmering yellow sunlight, I remained.