Last night, I had a dream. I found an old suitcase in a dimly lit Victorian room reminiscent of those seen in horror game mansions. The darkness shied away from the candle on the nightstand, and I sat on the wooden floorboards, wondering what was in the tattered suitcase.
My hand approached the lid slowly, some of me filling with slight unease. I held my breath and pondered over what I should do. In my hesitation, curiosity had gotten the better of me, and I opened it. Very little filled the near-empty space, but something caught my attention.
What first captured my eye was a plastic takeaway container wrapped in tin foil—its contents protruding and making an outline in silver. Not knowing what hid behind the foil, my eyes registered the rest of the suitcase’s contents. It made no sense.
At the far end of the suitcase were ziplock bags of human organs. Many of them were shades of pink or salmon and darker reds but were largely intact and showed no signs of blood. I shuddered at the sight, directing my focus back to the tin foil. The organs were burned into my memory and did not distract from the mystery of the takeaway container. It only added to the confusion.
As my eyes traced over the outline of the foil, it became clear what I had been looking at. It was a human heart and a small spade. Whatever warmth and comfort I once felt left as my body responded in trembling to the cold. Was it always this cold?
The dark began to play tricks on my eyes. Shadows swayed as the flame flickered behind me, prompting a wary glance over my shoulder in fear of someone or something lurking in the room. It’s not safe. I’m not safe. A wave of guilt and dread came over me as I began to plot my next move.
But I had done nothing wrong. If I was free of any wrongdoing, why was it my instinct to hide what I had found? Out of fear, I pushed the suitcase away and scrambled away, eventually returning to where I came from. I woke up.
I gasped for air as if I hadn’t been breathing at all. My lungs revelled in the familiar taste of oxygen, and my heart slowed from an uncomfortable racing pace. It’s safe. I’m safe.
But for how long? My heart might as well be wrapped in tin foil and buried six feet under to ensure that’s the case.
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