I had this dream on Monday night.
Abby and I both freaked out and I carried him to my parents house. I thought he was dead and I remember trying to feel for a pulse, but there was nothing there. He also wasn't breathing. We took him upstairs in my parents house. The house looked like a big donut with just one round room and the stairs in the middle of the room.
My mom was downstairs putting dishes into the dishwasher. She didn't seemed surprised by what I was telling her. Then Abby came downstairs and told me to come back up. The kid was alive and pretty groggy. He asked what happened and I told him that he got hit in the back of the neck with a rock. I didn't tell him I threw it although I was still unsure if I had thrown it. I felt really sorry. We went to a party at someone else's house and the whole time I wanted to tell him that I was the one that threw the rock, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. That is when I remember the dream ending.
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