I had a dream last night about strange black floating things that could take away your soul and there was a grandfather hunched over a baby armed with a sort of baby bottle, only that the pacifier was jade and he kept dipping the pacifier-thing into the bottle and feeding the baby holy water, which kept the floaty-things away from them both.
But the floaty-things just kept swarming around him and his hand got really tired, he knew he was nearly at the end of his life. He had to keep the kid safe and with his last ounce of energy he brought the bottle up and poured whatever was left onto the baby’s clothes, because he couldn’t risk the kid choking on the water.
As his eyes closed and he died he knew that the water would evaporate and sooner or later, if help didn’t come, the creatures would get the kid too. In my dream I was watching from the left side of the baby, he thought it was a game and he was really quite young, probably six months? Just gurgling away and being happy.
And I had another dream after that- or maybe it was mixed in- it was about two dead baby boys. I was standing in front of a metal shelf which had a lot of drawers, all of the same size, and the top left contained a dead baby boy. I think I killed my brother who was a year old and stuffed him into one of the lower drawers.
My parents wanted to find him and I felt so horrible, not because I regretted his death but because I was scared to be found out, I knew I did something wrong- like I stole something important and every moment now someone would open that drawer and discover his body folded up and I would be screwed over. It was very important that no one discovers him, and I didn’t want to shift his body out of the drawer because it would be decomposing already, I didn’t know what to do with it apart from wishing very hard that I could remove that memory from my head.
There was that forbidden and shameful element to my dream, I wish I didn’t do it, but now I can’t turn back time and whenever I went near that drawer I felt him being alive, the memory of him being alive, just that I knew that he is no longer around. I was the murderer but people who were innocent around me thought I was innocent too. In that dream I couldn’t eat for two weeks until I finally killed myself, because whatever I did I could feel him just lying there accusingly. I knew he was there and I couldn’t tell anyone about it, how can murderers live with themselves?
Being an undertaker is a strange thing to me, a job that requires you to dress the dead up as the living. To fix them with makeup and clothes and place them in caskets. Straddling the place between life and death and not feeling any guilt that they are gone and you are still here. That they are forever relegated to small dusty drawers and you have the night sky and the morning air.