Fragile Things

So I had a weird dream last night. 14 hours of sleep’ll do that to you.

Before you all go ‘Urgh, dreams…’ on me and walk away forever, hear me out.

Disclaimer: my brain is weird. Also, this is my first attempt to turn dream logic into narrative logic, so…it might not go well.

So, picture the scene:

‘The warped windows let in a bleary faint light from the setting sun. Light is provided by a few strategically placed half-burnt candles in empty wine bottles. What it illuminates is hardly encouraging: the walls are dark, almost black - whether it’s paint, or oddly thrown shadows, you cannot tell. They’re lined with crates, boxes, caskets, who knows. Odd shapes loom at you from corners.

You begin to wonder why you came here. Half curiosity at a shop you’d walked past a thousand times or more but never noticed or even knew it was there, half some magnetic pull drawing you in, relentless, irresistable. Almost reluctantly, you pick up a wine bottle, wincing a little as hot wax runs down it onto your hand. Taking tentative steps towards the nearest box, you take the opportunity to look around you at the other customers. The closeness of the candle has nightblinded you from what its light cannot reach, and you appear to be alone. The candle burns lower. Reaching the box, you peer inside - it’s filled with clods of earth and clusters of leaves. Reassured, you dig out a plant, the earth cool and damp, a balm to your burn. The root is split, twisted into a grotesque parody of a human figure. The smell, of clotted blood, of rust, burns your nose as you drop it and back away into a dumpy woman, who yelps. As you turn around to apologise, she vanishes from your little globe of light. The candle continues to drip hot wax on you as you as you cast it around, desperate for some point of reference. Disorientated, you head to what you think is the door, but instead walk into a cooler annex. The smell has not left your nose, and instead intensifies, till you cough and splutter and sneeze. It is then you realise that the air is still, quiet. Some sick fascination draws you closer, and you go from crate to crate as your gut twists in knots and your head spins, only remembering glimpses: bird skeletons with flesh hanging off in ribbons; tongues pinned down like butterflies; a slimy translucent-yellow hunk of flesh encasing a still-beating heart; and neatly laid out, a fresh human body cut into chunks. You dimly perceive that while the head remains, the brain has been inexpertly removed, leaving a gaping hole like a scream.

The room resonates, spins, and shatters as your nose burns. While the world collapses around you, you look down at your suddenly empty hand, caked in dirt. You scrape it away, and underneath is a peculiar burn on the meaty part of your thumb. You rub it thoughtfully. You eventually realise it’s in the shape of a skull, and clamp down on an animal screech threatening to erupt as darkness descends.’

Well, that went poorly. It’s shit, I know, but I needed to write it down. It’s a recurring dream (I don’t find it that nightmarish, which is worrying in itself) and by writing it down I hope to get rid of it. I had to cut some stuff and fiddle with it a bit to make it make sense, but I really just want it to go away xD