collections 5:16

I dreamt that he lived- my father. He had stolen the thrown of Iran and had called for my family to visit. So my mother and I went- she stayed in a hotel, but I chose to roam the streets where war was constant. My life in danger, some anti-Islamic Iranians took me into their hide out. They were all very hurt, injured, weak- but they took me in nonetheless. They warned me against visiting my father, the Shah, but I had to- so I went before I was summoned and there he sat on his small thrown, waiting for me in a small, dark room. He looked like my father, but he didn't speak like my father. He spoke like a man with nothing but blackness in his heart. When I turned my head for only a moment, he drew a large, crescent shaped knife from his black robe and attempted to stab me, but I fought him off with all the strength I had. It wasn't my father at all- merely a doppleganger in his form, taking advantage of my mother and I. I returned to the hotel quickly and warned her against it, but she didn't listen to me- she only cared that he lived and she wanted to be with him again. I was alone.