Reawakening
by
, 12-20-2024 at 03:58 PM (67 Views)
Who is she, tucked in her long and too-thin casket? Sit aside the mourners. Not a souls is known, not even my own, I think.
A jittery man, red jumpsuit wrapped, plays broken keys, spews spoken hymns. Red backs into the bed. It tips. It rocks. The death mask within un-wrinkles with shock. Her brows twitch. Her lips narrow. Is she alive? Dead? Undead?
The assembled are unbothered.
Look back. Sleeper has shifted. She is mother, face convulsing, eyes rolling in REM rage. Stab of fear. Wash of revulsion.
Seek solace from the mourners. They are unmoved.
Breathe through the shock. Call upon cautious disbelief. This can't be real. Fumble through a reality check, "It's a dream. Of course it is. Just a dream. Just a dream."
Look back. Mother contorts into grandmother. Heavily painted eyes rip open. She sits up. Face bitter. We lock eyes. She gives an unloving grin full of secrets, full of sin. My soul prickles with dread.
The crowd are statues. "This is a dream!" I scream.
Look back. Grandmother contorts into Yubaba. We stand suddenly face to face. "Give me a hug," she croaks through wrinkles, rippling wild. Recoil. Then, through the fear comes clambering some calm. I claim, "This is dream." Step toward the arisen. Fall into embrace. Frighteningly, absolute nothing inhabits her hold. Yubaba pulls away. She floats away. Red still croons fragmented tunes. The undead gives gifts to the statues still littered about.
Slip into an icy, analytical space. "This is a dream. The walking dead. The waking dead. Re-awakening?"