Speaking of dreams, here's one I had a while back:
2 June 2013
Last night I had a rather frightening and disturbing dream. I dreamt that I brought back to life from death the body of the most beautiful boy in the world. It was that of Bjorn Andresen. The consequences were not necessarily those that might have been hoped for.
I was was in the company of a good friend when I discovered the body, and when I decided to set to work bringing the life and his spirit back into it by magical means.
I had to work in a small dark room, almost a basement chamber. Yet below it was a young boy who complained of the noise, so I was told. He complained of water or the like flowing down into his room. So from him I had to conceal my further activity, or prevent any further flooding, noise or other evidence of it from reaching him. But I would not stop, for my work was just reaching its conclusion.
I succeeded in bringing the spirit of the dead and most beautiful youth back into his body, which was still fresh, sound, and most beautiful. My closest friend was the only other person aware of this.
The boy was now alive once again, but I was not sure that he wanted to be so. Would he look on me as benefactor, even savior, or as someone who had done him no favor? For I had acted out of a desire for a companion and lover, without taking his feelings into account.
The boy had beautiful black lips, like a goth boy with black lipstick. That was the only sign that he was a being returned from death.
I wanted to tell Bjorn that it was I who had brought him back to life, for he did not know this. I told myself that it was my duty to let him know this, not to leave him in ignorance of this fact, and to accept responsibility for it. But I also wanted to exult in my achievement, and to bask in his admiration, and what I hoped would be gratitude and love, even though I feared the opposite.
So I told him. I led him away into a spot out of earshot of others and told this most beautiful boy back from the dead that it was I who had restored him to life.
He went out of the house or building and into the night. I went out in search of him, then ran terrified back into the house. Was it gratitude or vengeance I would have from him? His fingers I knew were stronger than iron and steel. I was terrified, even as I stepped through the upstairs French window and told my friend that I believed in the occult.
Speaking of dreams, here's one I had a while back:
ReplyDelete2 June 2013
Last night I had a rather frightening and disturbing dream. I dreamt that I brought back to life from death the body of the most beautiful boy in the world. It was that of Bjorn Andresen. The consequences were not necessarily those that might have been hoped for.
I was was in the company of a good friend when I discovered the body, and when I decided to set to work bringing the life and his spirit back into it by magical means.
I had to work in a small dark room, almost a basement chamber. Yet below it was a young boy who complained of the noise, so I was told. He complained of water or the like flowing down into his room. So from him I had to conceal my further activity, or prevent any further flooding, noise or other evidence of it from reaching him. But I would not stop, for my work was just reaching its conclusion.
I succeeded in bringing the spirit of the dead and most beautiful youth back into his body, which was still fresh, sound, and most beautiful. My closest friend was the only other person aware of this.
The boy was now alive once again, but I was not sure that he wanted to be so. Would he look on me as benefactor, even savior, or as someone who had done him no favor? For I had acted out of a desire for a companion and lover, without taking his feelings into account.
The boy had beautiful black lips, like a goth boy with black lipstick. That was the only sign that he was a being returned from death.
I wanted to tell Bjorn that it was I who had brought him back to life, for he did not know this. I told myself that it was my duty to let him know this, not to leave him in ignorance of this fact, and to accept responsibility for it. But I also wanted to exult in my achievement, and to bask in his admiration, and what I hoped would be gratitude and love, even though I feared the opposite.
So I told him. I led him away into a spot out of earshot of others and told this most beautiful boy back from the dead that it was I who had restored him to life.
He went out of the house or building and into the night. I went out in search of him, then ran terrified back into the house. Was it gratitude or vengeance I would have from him? His fingers I knew were stronger than iron and steel. I was terrified, even as I stepped through the upstairs French window and told my friend that I believed in the occult.
Z.