nightmare

Disturbing part in spoiler.

I'm in a industrial building, all cements and metals staircase. It's nighttime outside, but the inside are lit with harsh neon lights and green night light. I'm with a brown haired, thin woman, a little taller than me; the light make her looks sick, and put emphasis on the dark circles under her eyes. The air is cold and damp, the kind of atmosphere that seep into your bones and chill you for hours. We're headed outside, but a man cross our path. He's not very tall, but very charismatic, with brown hair and very white skin. He wears a crisp white shirt, without any wrinkles despite the late hour. He makes us walk to a lower part of the building, into a big room divided by metal fences. He makes us enter one of the small room delimited by the fence. There is a medical chair in the middle, with straps to keep the head, arms and legs in place. He straps the woman in, and she starts to shiver.

Spoiler for here go my lunch:

Then he produces a long straight razor with a mother of pearl handle. It glitter in the neon light, like his teeth when he smile. He use this razor to slice of part of the woman head, it go in and out like a hot knife in butter, and take the piece in his hand, inveilling her brain. There isn't any blood. Just her brain, that looks green in the light. I can see with chirugical precision the skin of her head, then the bone of her skull, then the differents membranes that warps the brain, and the brain itself, with the circonvolutions neatly cut like a anatomical picture. It shine wetly in the light, pulsing slightly. He dump the piece he already cut and slice a bigger one, all the waiy throught her nose and cheek; I can see the inside structure of her skull, the pink of the gums and tongue, the muscles of her faces perfectly cutted. He gently push in what's left of her frontal lomb inside the skull , showing a small patch on the surface of it where the brain of the woman seem to have rotten oway into a powery, gray-green mildew. it's small, barely larger that the blade of the razor, with irregular border, and it's maybe two millimeter deep; it's hard to juge with the mildew. He tells me "that's why I have to do it, you see." Her brain seem greener around the rotten area. It's a surealist butchery, a bloodless carnage. He keeps smiling.

I get out, down another staircase, to the parking lot under the building. Once I'm outside, I start running. There are other people in the parking, trying to get away as fast as possible. A man walking in see me running and turn on his heels, running too. We pass a couple of garbage collector, one telling the other that he gt sick and now he can smell everything in the garbage bags, "from cambell soup to kitty litter." The street are lit with city light and colorful neons, the road go uphill. The ground is slick with a recent rain, the sky pitch black. Lots of commerces are still open, spilling lights on the sidewalk. I keep running, past a laundromat covered in white tiles and a chinese restaurant with red and black paper lanterns.

I'm in a house that is a mix between my actual one and the one before. I'm trying to keep a new reporter, Fredrika Lounds to get inside. She first try to force the front door, then get increasingly unhinged as she try every windows of the house and I keep slaming them into her face and telling her no. I'm more and more afraid, and I jolt awake, forgetting the much nicer dream I had before.

Welp, it sucked.

Some dreams are like old, abandonned cemetary; old bones laying under the soil, mostly forgotten but lingering still.

I am in the old house, with my family. My sister and father are cooking, the table is dressed in the kitchen. Their part of it is bathen is a golden glow, but it fade before reaching my mother and me. Nobody seem to notice, and they bring the food to the table, and everyone get a hearty helpful of pan roasted potatoes and bacon bits. It smells wonderful, my family is joking around and laughting, but I can't. Deep down, this feels sublty wrong, like I'm seeing everything through a deforming glass. The food taste good, but my stomach is tight. I feel cold and remote, I want to leave.

I wonder how many time my subconscious is going to dig up the ghost of my childhood and the corpse of my parent's marriage.