Weird weird dream

Kenny and I are on a plane. It is a jumbo jet, one of those big transatlantic flyers. For some reason it is filled with people I know; random people, many of whom I have not seen in years. I am talking about everyone from Daniel Jimenez, a guy I knew in high school and in Kings Kids, to Dorita Madre, the old lady from my church in Spain that heads up the prayer chain. It is dark, they have turned off the lights and people are asleep. I am sitting (get ready for this) between Kenny and Francisco Franco, the former dictator of Spain. Throughout the flight all three of us have been chatting. At one point I suddenly need a pen, probably to fill out a landing card or something. Franco has a pen sitting on his open tray table. Being that we had been chatting amiably, even joking around, I pick up the pen to use for a second. The old dictator freaks out. He stands up in the aisle and starts raving about how I am a thief. Kenny and I are pretty stunned, but not as stunned as when he pulls out a gun and levels it at my head. I duck and roll out of my seat while a shot goes into the head rest where I had been moments before. I start yelling at the old guy, and he sort of decides not to shoot me but in his rage still keeps firing off rounds into the air. I yell for him to stop, for shooting bullets in a pressurized cabin flying miles above the ground is never smart. But Franco doesn't hear me and keeps shooting. As I feared the bullets rip through the fuselage and the plane destabalizes and plummets to the ground.
Somehow it manages to crash land and we all make a run for it before the plane bursts into flames. We are standing in a small town in the Sierra de Gredos, the mountain range northwest of Madrid. I watch Franco emerge from the plane; stumbling, coughing and waving his gun around. I take advantage of the moment and run into a nearby shopping mall. Moments later I am joined by several people. They all blame me for bringing down the plane. I cannot believe what I am hearing as I am accused by all sorts of folks of being the one responsible for Franco's actions. No one blames Franco, and even Kenny, who was there, seems to think that I was responsible. After arguing and shouting everyone leaves me alone in the shopping mall. I find my way to a little hotel and check in, disgusted and fully pissed off. My sister comes to see me. While she is not angry at me, neither does she seem to feel any pity for me, but it was better than most. She tells me that everyone who is "de izquierdas" (left-wing politically. ie: those who fought against Franco in the civil war) have already left town, having gotten on a bus and driven away a couple hours earlier. She gives me the bus schedule and suggests I do the same. Almost as soon as she leaves a couple friends come in. They seem nearly mechanical in their treatment of me. They are cold and angry. Again they accuse me of bringing down the plane. Again I blame Franco. However, these people are Franco supporters that have stayed behind. "Franco says you are a thief" they say, their minds already made up. Daniel Jimenez takes out a gun and points it at me to finish me off... and I wake up.