I dreamed this morning that I was at my funeral. The crowd was thick, and it was hard to move around. I knew my body was on the story above. I decided I needed to see. I fought my way to the stairs, fought my way up the stairs, and suddenly, the resistance was gone. There was a child guarding my body. I saw his face, and it was terrible. It was old, haggard. That a child’s face could be so old! I ran. I could not face him, couldn’t face my death. How could a child be so old?
My Funeral
Tale Told 