Dream

Musik: One After 909 - The Beatles
Klieden: Blue checkered blouse, demin skirt, footless tights and spotty socks
Filme: ...
Buchen: The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne

So, I wrote this short piece about a dream I had. I wouldn't post it, only it was pretty interesting. I hope nobody tries to phycho-analyse me on the basis of this. It was just a dream; the residue of a partially functioning brain.

It is pristine, perfectly white and clear. Everything has been sterilized and is sharp and clean. The surfaces shine dully; industrial steel. The instruments sparkle invitingly, whispering conspiratorially to one another. There will be blood, they say, and we shall partake in the blood. It shall stain us and will become irreversible just as every other stain becomes of us. The room is quiet until she enters it, with her starch white uniform and bleached hair. Her being is soft compared to the room. She cannot hear a thing and it is deafening her.

The tap does not drip. There is no water in the basin; it is dry like everything else. She wets her lips before venturing to turn the tap on. The water blasts suddenly onto her hands, a veritable tidal wave of motion amongst the stillness. For a few seconds nothing seems out of the ordinary. When she realises, she cries out and the sound is so quiet as to be imperceptible.

As the water hits her hands, she recognises, the skin appears to disintegrate – exposing the blood and muscle beneath. The blood-stained bones poke out beneath the pink, meaty sinews and pulsing veins. And yet…she can feel no pain. She stares, morbidly fascinated by the sensation. Her blood washes into the sink, circling the drain darkly.

Almost as though coming to her senses she quickly turns off the fast-flowing jet of water. Her hands remain in their sinewy state, although still without pain. But the blood is dripping and dripping. It will not stop. She stares and stares. It will not stop. She wraps her hands in the bandages beside the instrument. Still, it will not stop. Soon there is a pool of blood leaking across the pristine surface. The instruments sigh as it reaches them. It stops.