Dystopian Dreams

So after drifting off to sleep after watching Sleepy Hollow, I had rather interesting yet disturbing dream(s). My dubious memory can only remember bits and pieces of isolated situations which my conscious self is struggling to string together.

1.) Waiting for the train: I was somewhere in my birth city of Durban in South Africa, waiting on a platform for a train to catch to…somewhere. Contrary to the usual trains of today, the rails below the platform were exceptionally wide, spaced at least 2 metres apart and made from what seemed to be a sort of polished concrete. After waiting for a few minutes on a mostly deserted platform (some inner thought told me the train fares were extortionate, hence none of working classes made use of them), a Megalithic train arrived, capable of carry several hundred passengers in a single carriage. I stepped into the carriage, feeling the cool air of the climate controlled carriage against by face. Ironically, the carriage designed to carry hundreds of people was empty bar a handful of suits making the journey home after a sweltering summers day and a lone individual clad in Motor cycle leathers who was having a conversation with another suit about how his motorbike broke down in the centre of Smith Street. The only sign that gives away the train was in motion again was the gentle momentum that pushed me into the back of my seat. The journey sadly then blurs into unconsciousness.

2.) The Dying: Standing alone in a backstreet, an adult daughter kneels over her mother’s corpse, her mental awareness desperately challenging reality, not accepting the transgression of her mother’s death into the realm of night. Standing over her, a militiaman with a rifle in one hand attempts to put some sense her in her head, but I can’t here his words, I can only see his uncaring gestures towards the daughter forcing her to give into reality. But most disturbing of all was the mothers corpse, clad in black as though dressed for her own funeral, laying against paving stones which had not seen the a ray of sunshine in more than 50 years, cracks filled with putrid looking black fungus. Her midriff faded into nothing, becoming one with the stones and the road. Still, the most fetid feature of the dead mother was her skeletal face, flaking green and white skin, drawn tightly across malformed skull and from lips, nose and eyes streamed a constant haze of grey white fungal spores.