Anyway, there was this trail of ugly oily black smoke from the west. And my dad and my sister and I were looking at it, and I said "It's a fire."
And my dad says, "No."
And I say, "What is it? Too narrow to be a storm."
When gigantic transport plane, painted grey and blue, was a military plane even though it looked like a civvie jumbo jet, came streaking over the top of the housy, oily black smoke pouring from where its tail stabilizers would be.
Although it came straight over the top of the house, it somehow crashed into the street outside the house. And of course, it exploded.
The alarm went off before I could find out whether I made it or not, but I think not.
Ugh. I hate nightmares.