Dreams are not to be analyzed.
The Night brings on the strangest things.
High above ground level, in the top of an old castle filled with unknown horrors, there is a tourist museum. I happened to be there this day with two friends of mine. We strolled the dark corridors looking at artifacts of a different time. We came to the room said to contain those things which were not suitable for those weak of heart and mind, and they passed it by, leaving me to go in alone. There is an old woman pacing the room, her eyes not leaving the floor. She works here day in, day out, wearing a path in the dingy carpet. I look around, peering into boxes that contain instruments of torture, rusted and stained having not been cleaned properly at their last use. There are paintings depicting in detail the scenes in which the instruments were used, others show old houses or old people, all miserable to a great extent, one of them shows an ancient King pierced by the claws of a demon, a golden flute falling from his lifeless hand.
In the corner there is a woman, hunched over in the fetal position, mummified. Her skin is dark and leathery, her face twisted into a look of terror that will last an eternity. She is wearing a blue dress with a bustle and white fringing. Next to her is a cabinet and I kneel down to look inside. There are jars containing pieces that have been removed from people, a finger, an ear, eyes, organs, all floating in yellowing liquid. There is a small chunk of brown sitting of one of the shelves, beneath it is a sign saying "Honeyed Liver" it used to be a delicacy.
A man has come to stand next to me, dressed in a medieval soldier's uniform, a mail tunic over a red shirt. He smiles at me and I want him. We walk the room again, him pointing out things that I hadn't seen before, making fun of the lady who continues to pace her floor. I lean close to him grinning at his warmth and whisper in his ear, "Imagine what they must keep in the dungeons." He heads towards the door telling me to follow. He starts to run towards a wall and I chase after him watching him disappear behind an old faded tapestry. I push past it and follow him, still running, down corridor after corridor always heading downwards. We go through a wooden door and into a small room with an even smaller opening in the far wall. The man heads towards it and crawls in me after him. There is a grating above us and we crawl beneath it for a while until our passage widens (but does not get taller) near a tiny trapdoor. As he fumbles around for a key, I crawl up next to him and bite the back of his neck. Someone stops on the grating above us and pushes a silver dagger into my back.
High above ground level, in the top of an old castle filled with unknown horrors, there is a tourist museum. I happened to be there this day with two friends of mine. We strolled the dark corridors looking at artifacts of a different time. We came to the room said to contain those things which were not suitable for those weak of heart and mind, and they passed it by, leaving me to go in alone. There is an old woman pacing the room, her eyes not leaving the floor. She works here day in, day out, wearing a path in the dingy carpet. I look around, peering into boxes that contain instruments of torture, rusted and stained having not been cleaned properly at their last use. There are paintings depicting in detail the scenes in which the instruments were used, others show old houses or old people, all miserable to a great extent, one of them shows an ancient King pierced by the claws of a demon, a golden flute falling from his lifeless hand.
In the corner there is a woman, hunched over in the fetal position, mummified. Her skin is dark and leathery, her face twisted into a look of terror that will last an eternity. She is wearing a blue dress with a bustle and white fringing. Next to her is a cabinet and I kneel down to look inside. There are jars containing pieces that have been removed from people, a finger, an ear, eyes, organs, all floating in yellowing liquid. There is a small chunk of brown sitting of one of the shelves, beneath it is a sign saying "Honeyed Liver" it used to be a delicacy.
A man has come to stand next to me, dressed in a medieval soldier's uniform, a mail tunic over a red shirt. He smiles at me and I want him. We walk the room again, him pointing out things that I hadn't seen before, making fun of the lady who continues to pace her floor. I lean close to him grinning at his warmth and whisper in his ear, "Imagine what they must keep in the dungeons." He heads towards the door telling me to follow. He starts to run towards a wall and I chase after him watching him disappear behind an old faded tapestry. I push past it and follow him, still running, down corridor after corridor always heading downwards. We go through a wooden door and into a small room with an even smaller opening in the far wall. The man heads towards it and crawls in me after him. There is a grating above us and we crawl beneath it for a while until our passage widens (but does not get taller) near a tiny trapdoor. As he fumbles around for a key, I crawl up next to him and bite the back of his neck. Someone stops on the grating above us and pushes a silver dagger into my back.
posted by Leviathan at 12:50 pm
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