Freud can rest happily

I'm in front of a town hall, a big pile of white rectangles built at the top of a hill, there are wide stairs starting at the gate and running down in a straight line, all white and shiny too under the sun, on each side rows of houses are set, creating a sort of corridor like in those old western towns.

I'm chatting with my brother far up on the white stairs, well..., he is done talking, about how my father disapproves the arrangement of my room, and my gaze is lost away in the horizon, i just entered my thinking process, my eyes are open but unaware of the vicinity,

"It's so futile"

i think, and a picture of my room, immense and illuminated appears, i throne in the middle, i feel the rage rising, for that father nothing from me was good enough, i sense the hatred filling me up, i'm starting to shout imprecations, agonizing screams, i've got killing intents, my face burns, my fists are tight, i'm howling like a beast,

"Bastard! I'm going to stab him in his chest!",

and that new picture appears, i violently wave down my arm holding a butcher knife, it enters the ribcage smoothly with the sound of broking bones, blood spurts and covers the nude skin in the open shirt, it 's a sacrifice, one frank blow, no hesitation, and i feel joy to let that fatal energy guiding me, i'm focused on the wounded chest, i see no head and no limbs, i don't recognize my father features, i'm still holding the knife, assured, grinding the innards, then behind me, on the highest tower of the town hall, shutters open fast and a woman screams at me, panicked and obviously angry, contaminated by my hatred, she says

"Authorities are comming, you're lost!",

she trembles grasping the edge of the window, i need to flee, my guts tell me they are already there, on my heels, escaping, again i have to run, people are chasing me down, i stride behind the right row of square and dull houses.

I'm reaching the shade thrown by a church covered in profound green moss here and there, the construction is like shaped in concrete, which turned a dark grey through passing time, abrasive and raw, austere, sullen, no carving or decorations, i'm starting to forget my act and my pursuers, i'm resting in that cool shade, walking to the entrance along man-planted pine trees, the caucasian type, there's a basin here, moldy and grey as well, a menacing grey, there're particles of dirt in the water, rotten vegetal specks and dying insects, and tiny larval life forms, all swashing to a desert breeze, i'm planing to walk by and, before i could understand how, my wallet is sinking at the bottom of the basin, it's the leather wallet my father gave me years ago, i can still catch sight of it, deformed, through the murky water, i've got a fright, i've been conditioned to think that losing his papers is an endless line of worries, like losing identity, dread hits me and without thinking i dive with my clothes on, i progress in the smudge with breaststroke, crossing stratums of filth and quickly reach the bottom, my wallet is there, safe, laid on a sturdy metal grid, even below is a black abyss, a nameless despair, i take my time, i'm relieved,  i go out and lie on the ground, relaxing, everything's fading.

(Freud can be happy, half of his theory is accomplished ah ah)