The Dreaming Dead
A short story by Dilini Fredrick
A mortuary in Van Nuys has a coffin for $395. Great deal. Fibreboard, and totally natural. A grey cloth is mentioned too for, I don't know, to lay upon the corpse? And it's, the coffin, is lined with white cloth. No idea what the deal is with the different type of cloth, lining or otherwise, but this is the cheapest offering in Van Nuys.
Gladys was afforded this coffin by her children, who, quite fairly, wanted the inheritance to go to themselves mostly. What they did not know was it was the best of all the bad choices. The fibreboard, although horrendous to the environment, broke down and was overtaken by nature. The worms had no problem gaining entry. Gladys was thus, broken down and reclaimed back into the earth more quickly than her old friend, Benson.
Benson, survived by his son, Hedges, was afforded the solid cherry wood coffin, protected with a further shell of solid cherry and lined with velvet. Luxurious. Nothing could penetrate that monstrosity.
The ingrained delusion that human bodies, when they were ideally uber rich, had to be preserved. But, really, all people were indoctrinated into a religion, and if that happened to be Christianity, a baby philosophy in comparison to its predecessors, you were made to believe in the resurrection.
The end of days: Lo! How will one resurrect if the worms and time had managed to turn your bones to dust? Right? And, thus, the scramble to accumulate wealth began to afford that solid cherry delight.
The notion of class is not new, as in, it did not happen with capitalism. It seems the caste system of India lends itself to intense scrutiny. But, this country was crippled; its multiple kingdoms gone within a flash. But, they still burn their dead. Take heart that they do because a battered and formerly tottering on the brink of collapse civilisation still, to this day, burn their dead and not the way of their colonisers, who continue to favour dirt.
Imagine the burial of so many traumatised and colonised souls. That would be catastrophic. While that environment, modern day, any colonised Asian country, breeds the worst of the worst–men willing to delve into that abyss and believe it to be the true path and then go on to commit atrocities against humanity, they are burned by either grieving mothers or anonymously. If they are buried, the climate and ravenous insects, flora and fauna will dispatch them to a safe place, ushering their contemptuous ghosts on.
The colonisers secretly, however, contain their madness by telling themselves that it is ok to kill en masse for tea leaves. That they are helping the greater good. And then go on to their posh graves, to haunt their descendants, poisoning their minds. Planting seeds of bigotry and love for one thing, and one thing only: the almighty dollar, whatever denomination.
Benson went to his grave, but an intact brain allowed him to come and go as he pleased. He chose to dream. Dead dreams. Dying without growing emotionally meant his dreams were narrow and self absorbed. So many old colonialists were buried the same way. At least the Egyptians removed the brain and other organs, right?
Archaeologists find burial mounds, often piled with stones or within a cave. The same people who dig them up or stumble upon a purposely laid skeleton in a cave deep, deep underground, ask why? Our ancestors knew, but, not even they knew why. Our progenitors, other ancient human species, who had the knowledge of how to bury their dead, did. But Homo Sapiens either interbred with those species and squashed them that way, or outright murdered them, and with that genocide, the knowledge died. The interbreeding, however, retains the clue. The spark of what needs to be done is still there, but we have forgotten the why.
Hedges waged war amongst his immediate family. As the only son of a tobacco magnate, he wanted to keep the power. He enjoyed dictating who, within his own family, would get what. The grading system was not based on anything but being able to kiss his ass efficiently. Of course, the terms and conditions changed, suddenly and without warning, so no one was ever up to the standard. Hedges coveted all the wealth until his unfortunate escapade to Mt Everest. Whereupon his team of indentured labour, slaves, deserted his entitled ass not even a quarter of the way up.
The frozen corpse of Hedges remains there still, buried beneath layer upon layer of snow, clutching a lantern that had snuffed out within minutes. There would be no dreaming for this dead man.
But, Benson, the patriarch, dreamt on! The worms tried as they may to breach the hull of that cherry wood behemoth and failed. Generations of worms later, they were repelled and learned not to touch the poison wood. Benson’s brain, dehydrated and shrivelled, but remained a place, that malignant spirit of a most undeserving soul could dwell to continue wreaking havoc on the waking world.
Author's note:
I've no bio to speak of, really. But you can try Googling Dilini Metal Obsession to see other work that has been published. None of this was ever a phase.
