Dream Journal #1
16th of October 2018
I’m about to walk in to a theatre, on my own, standing at the door. Two gentlemen stand on both sides, dressed in pure black but with an extremely pale complextion. They open the door to the packed theatre, which momentarily turns around to face me. Everyone in the audience is wearing a black hat so their face are obscured and invisible. The path ahead of me leads to the stage and it is filled with people I know, standing in a half circle. Everyone is wearing black. In the centre of the stage there is a closed, silver bowl and behind it is standing Maurits Whack.
I realize that the whole event is for me. I slowly start walking down the hall, between the audience members, in utter silence. I climb the stairs to the pale, wooden stage (the curtains behind the people are also really pale, almost to the point of being colorless. The entire scene is very dull in color and lifeless) and walk up to the bowl. As soon as I’m close enough to it, Maurits Whack opens it to reveal its belongings. Inside it are a brain and a heart. The brain is white and the heart is black. Immedietely I notice I am bleeding from my fingers and my chest. It’s also the first time I notice I’m wearing a white shirt and black trousers. The blood is pouring fast and is completely black. I also notice that the veins beneath my skin are pure black in color. The shirt is filling with the black tint and I feel myself slipping away from consciousness. The last words I hear before I pass out are from Mr. Whack: “It’s time for you to die…again.”
I start feeling rain dripping on my face. I wake up to realize I’m still on the stage, the scene is still the same, the only difference is that the bowl has been removed, it’s raining inside the theatre and, in the place of the bowl, now stands a coffin. I stand up from the black puddle under me and a hand gesture from Mr Whack shows me that I should climb inside the coffin. I lay inside it, without objection. My mother and father approach me from both sides. My mother is carrying a rose, which she places inside the coffin, on my right side. My father follows the gesture from the left, only he lays violets next to me. They both step away and Maurits Whack comes closer. He looks me straight in the eyes, smiles mischievously and grabs the lid. As he is slowly closing it, I hear a whisper from his mouth: “Sleep well.”
As soon as the coffin completely closes, I wake up.