Sunday, July 3, 2016

Dark Basement of the Soulless

I dreamt I was on the top floor in a building of three stories when my husband said that we should take the elevator to the basement. I stepped in with him and the doors closed on the sunlit space we'd been in and then reopened to concrete cubical, murkily lit. There were a few people there. "We have to go back up," I said, but he didn't answer. I asked a woman how she got there. How to get out. Her words came out garbled, wrong-ordered, with record scratch interruptions and white noise intermissions. She didn't know how she got. Didn't know here. Didn't remember. Was up? Where?

I went back to the elevator and the doors opened. Inside was dark and in the dark were two human shapes that were still darker. I was terrified to step inside. My husband said to get in with those things, which, I was sure, were clothed in human skin. From different people. I refused.

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