When stingrays are most human

I just woke up from a crazy dream.  

It's 4:47 am and Rebecca is already showering.  This gives me a chance to write it down.

There is a very young man staring at me.  His face is glowing with sweat.  His eyes are hazel.  His hair is brown.  From here on out I realize that although I am the girl in the dream, I am also the dreamer.  I refer to the girl not to myself.

I know you.  He smiles.  His eyes dash and dart madly around her face.  His hair seems animate and is blooming above his head like flames.  When their faces come close together there is an electric charge like the most amazing static.  I know you.  You know me.  He smiles and his eyes fill with a wave of emotion that she can almost see on the surface, but the part he keeps to himself is an entire universe.  Their noses almost touch but the sensation of electricity pushes and pulls, pulls and pushes so that the space between them is somehow more exciting.  I know you, too.  I knew you.  You're a memory.  Her hair long and almost black.  Her skin bronze.  He brings a gun out and points it at her head.  What are you doing? No!  His face is pained and panicked.  I have to, he says.  She notices there is an entry and exit wound on either side of his face from which he is bleeding.  He moves the gun to her mouth.  I have to.  This is just a memory.  You're not real.  They have my son out there and he's waiting.  He can't breathe and I have to do this to get back to him.  She can't speak while the gun is in there and he knew that.   He can't take it anymore and removes it.  I am real.  I know you.  His eyes are freely flowing with tears now.  Sting rays are most human when they tear apart the flesh of their prey.  He says.  It's a game.  No a test.  The memory of this girl he loved back when this was the only love he could conceive of, or his 13 year old son - who any day now would arrive in that place where his first love would fill him with this same sweet memory to hold onto and come back to long after they lost track of one another.  I have to.  

After he shoots her he wakes and finds that his son is gone.  The rest of the dream is about the man looking for his son and feeling the loss of this girl in his memory.  He can't remember her, but he knows there was something to remember that he was forced to give up.  

I am not sure what this dream means, of course.  I haven't analyzed it at all yet.  More than anything I thought it would make for a pretty fun if not melodramatic movie.  Maybe Chris Nolan or Dave Fincher would direct?  

The father-son stuff made me think of Cormac McCarthy.  It doesn't take much to make me think of him though, that's true.  The first lines of The Road seem to be always sitting and waiting in my mind for the moment when I want them:

When he woke in the woods in the dark and the cold of the night he'd reach out and touch the child sleeping beside him.  Nights dark beyond darkness and the days more gray each one than what had gone before.  

Time for work.