Pieces on the Highway Dream

There're shoes strewn all over the living room floor. Ugly shoes, tacky shoes, one pair with pink and purple crocodile skin which I had seen at the Goodwill. I am packing.

I am packing to go to America. I'm going there because I'm supposed to meet my boyfriend and his parents; they are currently in Taipei, too, though. My boyfriend does not help me get a ride to the airport and I am running late. He says, just go out and get a taxi. I need some items from a pharmacy, but I'll have to live without them.

My dad is going to see me to the airport since my boyfriend won't help. We leave the house and are close to some sort of large street, highway. With great difficulty we find a taxi which is a motorbike. The highway is strewn with motorcycle parts, people parts, dead people's arms hanging over the bike seat; I look away and mentally urge my driver to drive, drive fast, please, and don't trip the wheels over a bike carcass or human part. There're some gangsters further down the street; they must be the murderers. I hope that we can pass them safely, but my taxi driver seems to get in a tiff with one of the murderers and as we zoom down the highway that gangster comes after us on his motorbike with a large cleaver.

Catching up, he sinks his cleaver swiftly through the taxi driver's chest. I'm very upset and angry? He whacks again, at my left shoulder and arm. We both look at my arm and it's fine, still there--he missed. He aims for my father's right arm and injures him; I see the large blade sink down his shoulder. I'm furious now, horrified; I grab the cleaver from the murderer it's very heavy and solid and large and I sink it into the gangster again and again. The only hesitation I have about killing him is that I hope his friends won't come after me for revenge.
I remember the cut on my dad’s shoulder and hug him, crying. Somebody take my dad to the hospital, somebody take my father to the hospital, please...