Repeating voices before I woke.
I was using bathroom in dream.
A lot of conflict.
3 people. I accidentally killed a friend. First a girl- then she was a boy. Then a girl. Although I knew it was wrong and it was an accident I didn’t feel like I deserved punishment. I didn’t feel much, at all. I think I was doing something like helping them. Trying to put their name tag on them? I accepted their death.
I remember someone carrying their body, wrapped in cloth, to somewhere, to dispose of it. We were in a house/apartment. A man was waiting for her, outside- a guy I recognize as a courier, but he might not have had the same face. He just stood there waiting for her, stubborn. I did get emotional with him. It was screwed up him waiting for her, outside, unmoving, while she had accidentally been killed, inside. What do we tell the guy.
But a friend wanted to cut up their body and feed it to pigs- to dispose of evidence, walking it by the guy. There was a short exposure to police- who the death/disappearance was reported to. They didn’t seem suspecting of us. We all seemed trustworthy.
The friend that wanted to cut her up and did feed her to pigs had ordered chinese. I had been in conflict with someone, perhaps her (and/or him?) but through this situation, that was set aside. We all became kind of close. But there was tension of course.
The body was now not her, but parts of a skinned pig. In the toilet, partially broken down.
I told a girl that was there of an investigation possible. How was it not? In the bathroom I told her. Why would an accidental murder that was reported… why would that person cut her up and feed her to pigs, and why are the pig parts now cut up, in the toilet? How did they miss the toilet?
She held my hand as I sat down to go to the bathroom. And another friend comes in. Jovial attitude for everyone joining in on this.
This is about where the dream ended. “I love Vortex.” “I love Vortex.” … and again, “I love Vortex.”
I remember in parts thinking about calling friend’s mother to give them my condolences. The one murdered seemed in my mind to fluctuate between him, and her. Her was a girl that I thought was Marie- a girl in my old neighborhood- from, we both lived there, and she was my most steady exposure growing up to a girl of near age, I think- being that close. But then I think she was the live one. There’s of course a lot lot lot I don’t remember, and it may not be important. One other that she was- and this was somehow before the others, as I remember such an emotional connection (then again, Marie too), was Donna- a girl, who I (have) kid(ded) myself over a lot. I somehow didn’t feel bad. It was sort of-almost relief that she was dead. It was.
Of course, not ideal, and I don’t wish death on her, consciously- but I imagine a part of me is so small, that it would be relieved… that if she’s not with me, she’s not alive. Of course, I’d disagree, but I admit I’m pretty small, in ways.
The way they (or just she was) were killed- I think it was by decapitation. There was a definite feeling of that/being cut at the neck. Her facebook picture, as recent as the past 8 hours, as of writing, is a picture of her head- only, cut off at the neck.
You could say I am obsessive. Wouldn’t you be? She’s like… perfect.
I was using bathroom in dream.
A lot of conflict.
3 people. I accidentally killed a friend. First a girl- then she was a boy. Then a girl. Although I knew it was wrong and it was an accident I didn’t feel like I deserved punishment. I didn’t feel much, at all. I think I was doing something like helping them. Trying to put their name tag on them? I accepted their death.
I remember someone carrying their body, wrapped in cloth, to somewhere, to dispose of it. We were in a house/apartment. A man was waiting for her, outside- a guy I recognize as a courier, but he might not have had the same face. He just stood there waiting for her, stubborn. I did get emotional with him. It was screwed up him waiting for her, outside, unmoving, while she had accidentally been killed, inside. What do we tell the guy.
But a friend wanted to cut up their body and feed it to pigs- to dispose of evidence, walking it by the guy. There was a short exposure to police- who the death/disappearance was reported to. They didn’t seem suspecting of us. We all seemed trustworthy.
The friend that wanted to cut her up and did feed her to pigs had ordered chinese. I had been in conflict with someone, perhaps her (and/or him?) but through this situation, that was set aside. We all became kind of close. But there was tension of course.
The body was now not her, but parts of a skinned pig. In the toilet, partially broken down.
I told a girl that was there of an investigation possible. How was it not? In the bathroom I told her. Why would an accidental murder that was reported… why would that person cut her up and feed her to pigs, and why are the pig parts now cut up, in the toilet? How did they miss the toilet?
She held my hand as I sat down to go to the bathroom. And another friend comes in. Jovial attitude for everyone joining in on this.
This is about where the dream ended. “I love Vortex.” “I love Vortex.” … and again, “I love Vortex.”
I remember in parts thinking about calling friend’s mother to give them my condolences. The one murdered seemed in my mind to fluctuate between him, and her. Her was a girl that I thought was Marie- a girl in my old neighborhood- from, we both lived there, and she was my most steady exposure growing up to a girl of near age, I think- being that close. But then I think she was the live one. There’s of course a lot lot lot I don’t remember, and it may not be important. One other that she was- and this was somehow before the others, as I remember such an emotional connection (then again, Marie too), was Donna- a girl, who I (have) kid(ded) myself over a lot. I somehow didn’t feel bad. It was sort of-almost relief that she was dead. It was.
Of course, not ideal, and I don’t wish death on her, consciously- but I imagine a part of me is so small, that it would be relieved… that if she’s not with me, she’s not alive. Of course, I’d disagree, but I admit I’m pretty small, in ways.
The way they (or just she was) were killed- I think it was by decapitation. There was a definite feeling of that/being cut at the neck. Her facebook picture, as recent as the past 8 hours, as of writing, is a picture of her head- only, cut off at the neck.
You could say I am obsessive. Wouldn’t you be? She’s like… perfect.
