A dream is a frenzied explosion of musings, sights, and feelings that invade your brain while you sleep. It’s a peculiar performance where the strange and the stunning intertwine, forming scenes that appear hauntingly real but ultimately leave you disoriented and questioning your sanity.
By Themba Khumalo
In the realm between dreams and reality, where shadows twist… and the impossible becomes vivid, I stood at the edge of a rippling river, its surface reflecting the silvery light of a crescent moon.
The night was quiet, except for a gentle breeze that whispered long-forgotten secrets, but that tranquillity was soon shattered.
From the depth of the water emerged a group of twenty men and women, their bodies glistening with rivulets of river water cascading down their skin. They stepped onto the riverbank, and what struck me most was the bizarre transformation of their hands.
Where once flesh met flesh, there now glimmered cold, polished knives and forks, their edges catching glints of the moonlight, betraying a primal hunger that simmered beneath their vibrant exterior.
I felt a chill creep along my spine as they began running about chaotically, sharpening their silver weaponry against the rocks, brick walls, and concrete pavements – with each stroke, a scrape of metal against stone sounded like sad music.
There was an unsettling mix of urgency and excitement in their movements, like an invocation of some ancient rite lost to time.
Then, like a cue from an unseen conductor, they turned towards one another with wild abandon. The atmosphere crackled with tension that held echoes of both laughter and horror. With surreal fluidity, they attacked, their blades flashing as they sliced away at each other’s bodies – pendulous breasts fell to the ground, and severed phalluses rolled like gross offerings upon the earth.
Instead of screams, there was an eerie jubilation, a revelry only the most macabre of dreams could conjure.
They gathered around the rocks by the riverbank, tossing their trophies into the fire they had kindled, a roaring blaze that danced and flickered like spirits in conversation. The flesh crackled and sizzled, sending a thick, tantalising aroma into the air, intoxicating and repelling at once.
With gay abandon, they began to feast, tearing into the charred remains with ferocity as ululations of joy rang out – a feast unlike any I had ever witnessed.
Some of the once-humans spun in delirious circles, their joyous shouts mingling with the anguished wails of those who seemed to be caught in their own torment. Some scratched at their skin as if seeking an escape from their own overwhelming pleasure and pain, a release from the fever of their surreal, collective madness.
The moonlight glimmered off the riverside as they poured crimson blood into wine glasses, the thick liquid contrasting sharply against the fragile crystal.
Each time the contents swirled and glistened, they paused to raise their glasses in toasts, exclaiming praises to the night’s gruesome celebration, their voices rising and mingling like an incantation in the dark.
“To freedom!” they bellowed, or perhaps it was “To liberation!” – the words warped by their madness, taut with euphoric delirium.
It was a scene that defied reason, a chaos of ecstasy and despair, beauty and horror twisting together in a grotesque ballet. I could feel their energy enveloping me while I remained an outsider, spellbound by the primal ritual that played out before me. The air thickened with an unspeakable tension that seemed to gnaw at the edges of my sanity.
As the night wore on, the echoes of their twisted revelry faded, and the participants began to quiet down. They leaned against one another, exhausted from their maniacal celebration, their laughter becoming soft whispers. I felt an inexplicable sadness wash over me; this had been a thought-provoking feast of flesh and revelry, a glimpse into the darker corners of human nature.
Just as the dream began to take a different shape, blurring the lines between the real and the surreal, I awoke with a startle, the horror of my slumbering vision still echoing in my mind.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that beneath this revelry lay a much deeper commentary on humanity – our desires, our violence, the cyclical dance of greed, love and pain.
As dawn broke, I sat on the edge of my bed, the dream still clinging to me like morning fog. I had watched a madness unfold. It was madness that forced me to contemplate our very existence.
And while the sun was rising outside, I couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps that gathering by the river wasn’t a reflection of our hidden truths, waiting to emerge when the darkness was unshackled.