Internal Creations

I awoke to find myself surrounded on all sides by a blinding light, voices echoing inside my head. I was lying down, stretched out as if on a crucifix, every part of me held down tightly. A face appeared over me, but I only glimpsed his three eyes before the light blinded me again. A voice in my ear told me to relax, that it wasn't over yet. My weak body became paralysed with pain as I slipped from consciousness.

I dreamed that I was a boy again, and that my brother was still alive. We were walking with our father through a freshly ploughed field to the forest. Father was teaching us how to hunt. . . How far away we were from the city!

Just as we entered the forest, my father cried out; a poisonous snake had bitten his heel. He had crushed its head with his foot, but it was already too late. Blood and venom dripped from the puncture-wound. Already he had become delirious, crying for us to call a doctor. I began to run back to the house. I ran as if I had been given angels' wings, but when he reached the house, everything had changed; my aged and grey father was waiting for me. He was dressed completely in black and was standing solemnly by the door, as if waiting for someone. I could hear my mother crying inside. But then all was silent as six pallbearers emerged from the house, carrying a white casket. Tears broke through my eyes as I gave myself over to the memories. I quietly followed the coffin to the grave.

As I watched them lower it into the ground, I glanced at the headstone: Dedicated to the memory of a son and his mother. No! Why had tragedy struck my family so hard in so little time? Mother. . . Peter. . .