They stood at an intersection of stairways in a dark, rundown building: men and women, dressed as if they had been on their way to work, or out for a day shopping, or on a brief stroll through the park. Too scattered to be called a mob, but too many to be called anything else. They faced all in different directions, their eyes half-closed, softly moaning.
A hum was heard from deep below and abruptly ended with the cheery chime of an elevator. Sliding doors rumbled open, a man stepped forward from a shaft of light, the doors slid shut once again. Apparently oblivious to the strange scene around him, the man shouted in a tone of annoyance: "Damn them, running us late, what the hell do they-"
Suddenly his voice cut off, and his head rolled back. His eyes bulged, and a horrible shout of agony tore loose from his gaping mouth. Expressions of fury appeared on the faces of the others, and they rushed towards him.
But before they could reach him, the shout ended in a stifled gurgle. The man's head slumped down onto his chest. The others turned away and returned to their quiet moaning, and he joined them.
Again and again this scene was repeated, and the building slowly filled.
---
Notes:
I have no god damned clue what this dream was about. My best guess is that it had something to do with the manner in which the pillow had worked its way under my head, so that my neck was curved back at an odd angle which caused an uncomfortable tightness in my throat. The elevator/rundown building imagery is perhaps drawn from my recent forays into the Manhattan subway system.
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