I just had a rather disturbing dream in which–well, I was dead. I had no idea of this fact, but did notice little things that were a bit off. The whole dream was disturbingly vivid as it was occurring and as I lay there in bed thinking about it, trying to make sense of it, and trying to decide if I wanted to wake up enough to write it down. As dreams are apt to be, is starting to get more fuzzy in my mind now.
At first, my dead life seemed no different, seeing as I did not know I was dead. I was doing the same things (although not at work, so I guess I thought it was a long weekend), interacting with the same people, going the same places. There were just minor oddities at first. The people I talked to never came up with anything new. Certain places gave me jittery feelings. Deja vu ran rampant. Certain disturbing fuzzy memories would surface as sounds and images, not as memories but as if I were watching something going on just out of view–a gurney being run somewhere, a hurried voice mumble-yelling code-two …or was it blue? I sort of lost my appetite and did not find it odd that I couldn't eat and did not seem to need to. Overall, I started to suspect something was different and horribly wrong, but was in denial about it all.
Like I said, generally the people I interacted with had nothing new to say–no new news, no new ideas or creations–except for just once. Brandon said to me at one point, out of the blue, with a disturbing look in his eyes, “if we're lucky ….errr, no….. well, let's just say that you might have a visitor today.” That was it, he sort of went back into his “character” and if queried had no idea what I was talking about. Not too long after that, someone familiar showed up who seemed to be quite different from the rest of the automaton people that were around.
“So, you got in a car wreck, huh?”
“No. What do you mean? Well…. I don't know. Did I? Nahhh.”
The denial, while still there, started to slip back just a bit. Some of the people around that I had been hanging out with and talking to would start to not always being around. Over time, I discovered that they were figments of my imagination, there to help me better cope with where I was. (And just where was that?) Sometimes I would be given things by people I presumed to be not in my head and also dead–for instance, a weird wristwatch. I accepted it, but hid it away at first–with some kind of hopeful logic that it was intended for dead people, and that wouldn't be me, so I didn't need to wear it. I eventually did accept my condition and wear it. I believe it gave me some sort of superpowers, as I recall.
I started to kind of learn the ropes of my new situation. A later conversation went something like this:
“So-and-so is not doing too well today.”
“Oh really, how do you know?”
“I was flying behind the car and listening to their conversation.”
“No, really? You can do that?”
“Sure, it's easy. You just…”
I learned that I could travel to my favorite haunts (excuse the pun) and check in on living people. I learned that food was unnecessary, did not taste like much, and even sort of stung my throat–except lemons, which sort of sting your throat anyway, but tasted good. More dead people would visit and either give me information (sometimes advice and sometimes seemingly random stuff) or would be confused and in need of information or help. Sometimes they would try to, on the sly, give me information to convey back to the living–which I could not do for some reason.
And then I woke up.