The Warehouse


Warehouse

Warehouse

I am inside a vast, cavernous, brightly lit warehouse, I am standing on-top of a large wooden box. The box I stand on is stacked upon other boxes. I look down to the warehouse floor, it's a long drop, I wouldn't want to fall.

All the boxes are stained the same colour, a reddish brown hue, underfoot they feel stable, balanced and well-constructed. The boxes are stacked to various levels, some are stacked ten tall, others only two or three, they are all linked together via some unseen system of connectors. Together they create a solid multi-level platform, a secure, safe haven for me to move around on.

To the left and to the right there are more stacks of boxes, they stretch out into the distance, behind me there are even more, they stretch back as far as the eye can see.

I leap, clamber or climb from one box to another, sometimes to the left, sometimes to the right, but always moving in a backwards, retreating direction.

There is no sound.

Below me, standing in the pool of light that pours from the warehouse doors there are three middle aged men, they are slowly and systematically removing the boxes that lay below me.

They take away the boxes one at a time, they complete their task methodically and dutifully, their faces are emotionless, they have no expressions.

As the boxes are removed I am forced to continue my journey backwards, I move deeper into the rear of the warehouse. I am not concerned about this, the wooden platform is extensive and it appears to stretch out into affinity, I take my time and simply step or climb across the wooden platform.

Abruptly and without warning the box removers change their system, they have devised a faster way of removing great sections of the platform. Their work becomes faster, their new system is more elegant, sophisticated, I now feel a sense of panic and pick up the speed of my retreat.

The speed of the removal of boxes becomes exponential and I find myself standing near the back of the warehouse.

In front of me there is nothing but empty space, an echoing expanse of desolation and gloom, behind me only a few boxes remain.


The above post is based on a recent, somewhat disturbing 'Kafkaesque' dream.
See related post: The Demon on my bed.

Posted: by Leeroy.


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