Part deux of la two-pieced dream
Nov. 28th, 2002 08:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thedarksiren2If you missed part one, go here first.
If not,
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bindrune and I kept running down this street till we came upon a grassy hill, and decided to take a detour as the world crashed behind us.
We wound up kind of sliding down after a bit, our bottoms turning the color of pines in winter. At the bottom of the hill, we noticed we were in Lakeview Cemetary, and walked across the way, past mausoleums with stained-glass angels crying for the lost souls inside, until we came to what appeared to be a funeral home.
Well, being the curious kind, we decided to walk inside.
As we stepped through the doors,bindrune changed her form into that of my old roommate Karen, whom I haven't seen/ talked to IRL in quite possibly eight years. I just looked at her, and we stood in line.
Suddenly my father was standing behind us, and it felt as if he'd been there the entire time. He talked to us, but then got lost chewing at the skin around his left thumb-nail. I realized it felt like we were in a buffet line, and wondered what the hell we could be waiting in a buffet line for in the middle of a funeral parlor.
I became anxious, and decided it would be fun to play with Karen' head. I told her she should see all the dead people's photographs around this place. She looked at me like I was crazy, and even asked me if I was. I laughed and told her, "Seriously - they close their eyes and their lips weave together anymore." She looked disgusted, but was curious no less.
and now for an obvious OTHERS reference:
Karen walked beside me, saying, "How macabre!"
We passed the line of buffet-people, leaving my father behind. I felt guilty doing this for some odd reason. I felt like I needed to pay more attention to him. But Karen assured me he'd be there till his thumb got chewed off.
I don't know why this was a relief, but it was.
We walked down a hallway and came to a grand bedroom, filled with Victorian mirrors and photos. And to my surprise, there were hundreds of black and white and amber photos of dead people lining the walls. I stood in awe - I had been joking, really, but sometimes when I kid in dreams, it comes true.
I began explaining the theories as to why this went on when I heard a woman, a tour-guide of sorts, saying, "Follow me, please."
We took her word, and followed her to this bed on the far right (seemed eastern) corner of the room.
The sheets and bedspread were white-lace and intricately woven. There was a young woman, not much younger than Karen and I in the dream, laying on the bed, dressed in a long black gown, her legs bent in the "Dead Man" position, like the ones they draw at crime scenes.
From this point the tour-guide lady began explaining to us how to take good, "proper" pictures of the dead, and how we needed to get them when they were still fresh for optimum results. Dead people don't bend so easily when they are stale - it's all about the freshness of the flesh.
The tour-guide bent over and moved the dead girl's left leg, and I heard a crackling sound as she did so.
Just then, the girl's last breath escaped, startling me into wondering how my father was, and if his thumb had been chewed off yet.
The tour-guide exclaimed, "Oh my! This one's reeally fresh! How lovely!"
And then I woke up.
If not,
bindrune and I kept running down this street till we came upon a grassy hill, and decided to take a detour as the world crashed behind us.We wound up kind of sliding down after a bit, our bottoms turning the color of pines in winter. At the bottom of the hill, we noticed we were in Lakeview Cemetary, and walked across the way, past mausoleums with stained-glass angels crying for the lost souls inside, until we came to what appeared to be a funeral home.
Well, being the curious kind, we decided to walk inside.
As we stepped through the doors,
bindrune changed her form into that of my old roommate Karen, whom I haven't seen/ talked to IRL in quite possibly eight years. I just looked at her, and we stood in line.Suddenly my father was standing behind us, and it felt as if he'd been there the entire time. He talked to us, but then got lost chewing at the skin around his left thumb-nail. I realized it felt like we were in a buffet line, and wondered what the hell we could be waiting in a buffet line for in the middle of a funeral parlor.
I became anxious, and decided it would be fun to play with Karen' head. I told her she should see all the dead people's photographs around this place. She looked at me like I was crazy, and even asked me if I was. I laughed and told her, "Seriously - they close their eyes and their lips weave together anymore." She looked disgusted, but was curious no less.
and now for an obvious OTHERS reference:
Karen walked beside me, saying, "How macabre!"
We passed the line of buffet-people, leaving my father behind. I felt guilty doing this for some odd reason. I felt like I needed to pay more attention to him. But Karen assured me he'd be there till his thumb got chewed off.
I don't know why this was a relief, but it was.
We walked down a hallway and came to a grand bedroom, filled with Victorian mirrors and photos. And to my surprise, there were hundreds of black and white and amber photos of dead people lining the walls. I stood in awe - I had been joking, really, but sometimes when I kid in dreams, it comes true.
I began explaining the theories as to why this went on when I heard a woman, a tour-guide of sorts, saying, "Follow me, please."
We took her word, and followed her to this bed on the far right (seemed eastern) corner of the room.
The sheets and bedspread were white-lace and intricately woven. There was a young woman, not much younger than Karen and I in the dream, laying on the bed, dressed in a long black gown, her legs bent in the "Dead Man" position, like the ones they draw at crime scenes.
From this point the tour-guide lady began explaining to us how to take good, "proper" pictures of the dead, and how we needed to get them when they were still fresh for optimum results. Dead people don't bend so easily when they are stale - it's all about the freshness of the flesh.
The tour-guide bent over and moved the dead girl's left leg, and I heard a crackling sound as she did so.
Just then, the girl's last breath escaped, startling me into wondering how my father was, and if his thumb had been chewed off yet.
The tour-guide exclaimed, "Oh my! This one's reeally fresh! How lovely!"
And then I woke up.
