The dreams are back too.
This time I was standing at the corner of a room, seemingly invisible, looking upon a fuzzy, disturbing scene. A girl with black, ruffled hair laid in the bed. She was very ill. Her breathing was heavy, and I think she’s dying soon. Her feet were close to me, I could observe her toes in detail. Her frantic parents and a devoted sister kept wiping her forehead and cleaning her exposed legs.
Must be a fever of some sort, I thought. Until she started excreting dirt from all of her ten toes. Layers and layers and layers of black dirt. We didn’t know what was going on. All they did was to keep wiping away the dirt and dumping them into the originally-white sink.
I was duly disgusted, but fascinated by the dirt. I thought once she expelled all that dirt, she’d die for sure.
In the sink, the dirt bubbled. And the bewildered father fished out a beautiful glass perfume contraption from the black dirt.
