In my dream last night I was crawling up a steep incline on my hands and knees. It was tough going; the incline was at times bumpy and hard and at other times so soft that my fingers sunk into the surface.
It wasn't until Iwas halfway up that I realized I was climbing over the carcasses of dogs and pigs. Some of them were in the last throes of death. Others were in various stages of decomposition.
I grasped at the ground to find leverage so I could stand up. My fingers sunk into the skin of a barely breathing German Shepherd, his fur gone, skin exposed and rank. The dog muttered something under his breath as I dug into him and then he died.
As I tried to make my way to the top, a figure appeared on my right. It was my elderly grandfather, in his wheelchair. He was rolling over the dogs and pigs at a fast pace. He too was rotting away. His skin was falling off and the bottom half of his body had blended into the wheelchair so I couldn't tell where he ended and the wheelchair began. Everything was made of flesh.
Grandpa winked at me as he rolled past and said, I'm not doing so well myself, kiddo. And then he sped away. leaving me alone to ponder why the landscape was strewn with dead animals for as far as the eye could see. And then I heard grandpa's voice coming from somewhere at the top of the flesh mountain: They got us, Michele. They got us.