Death Archives - The Pure Life of Dreams

June 23, 2023July 1, 2023

The Frog and Cat – Part 2 Back at the Hotel

After dozing off again, I find one of the frogs back with me in the hotel room. I have to let him lie in a small container of cold water for a while, to let him recuperate.

I put him in a long rectangular Tupperware, and put a lid on it so he cannot escape, but every time I put down the container, he starts hitting the lid with his head, almost knocks it off.

So then I fill the bathtub in the room, it is filled quite high, and I let the Tupperware float in it so that this time, if he escapes, he will only escape into more water.

The bathtub is only filled with water from the tap and is not the boiled, sterilizer water I used for him but I’m sure it will be OK for the time that he needs to get better.

Then I leave the room.

And it is only when I get back that I see the horror.

Artie is floating under the water of the bathtub his small body rotating slowly under the surface, the frog paddling around him, the Tupperware up-ended.

Artie must be dead, I think, as I pull him out. A bit of claw catches my hand and comes away from his paw, lodges with a piece of fur at the soft base of my thumb.

I lie Artie’s limp body, belly down, across the lip of the bathtub. I stroke his back, and press hard, up from his hind legs with both thumbs, push his fur up towards his throat until the water ejects from his mouth into the bathtub. And I repeat it again and again until the water spurts out, until after the third or fourth time he splutters into life, and rolls out of my grip onto the floor.

“Oh Artie,” I cry as he walk away.

He no longer has his buff coat but looks more tabby and smaller than he was before; when he was chasing the frogs.

I leave him to return downstairs where they have the constructors out on the patio. They are mending the tiles, resurfacing them with white squares in a diamond shape, white to match the balcony wall which surrounds the patio. And I want to see how the construction is going.

When I get there I’m surprised to see Artie once more. This time he is lying on his back, his body splayed across the balcony wall. A small but deep gash is visible across the white fur of his belly, bleeding,

“Artie,” I cry out once more as I rush towards the wall.

Next to him sits a contractor and, at the far side of the patio, two more. They wear grey hard hats and are eating sandwiches, it’s their lunch break. And they stare back nonchalantly at my commotion.

Then a second cat bounds out from the French doors of the hotel, across the patio and up onto the wall to my dead cat. Only it’s Artie who ran out of the hotel and the dead cat is not Artie after all, although he shares the same tabby markings and size.

Artie sniffs at the dead cat briefly before leaping towards the two contractors at the end of the patio. He ducks between them as they slouch and chew their sandwiches.

“Catch him!” I yell before he disappears under their legs.

Photo by Eu_eugen via Pixabay

April 20, 2023May 2, 2023

Attacked by a Drone in the Old Fort

Attacked by drones in the old Moroccan fort.

Siobhan, Liam, Lizzie and I went on holiday to Morocco or a place like that and after we had arrived and settled into our hotel, we went wandering around the souk. It was nearby and still filled with people in colorful costumes so we took lots of candid pictures.

The souk was quite open plan but still dusty, and had rich ornate rugs swung over the wooden frames of the stalls to protect the shoppers from the sun’s dusty glare.

The locals’ costumes were many striped, in reds and orange, golds and blues, the colors of the rainbow, and you had to be fast to get the pictures but I played with the iPhone buttons instead of the app button and snapped them really fast. I was not even looking to frame each picture so that even if a head got in the way I would still snap it.

I looked at one photo and sure enough I had frozen it in time. The focused head of a man captured through a blur of people. I was proud to have gotten a good picture just like the kids showed me.

And later on we walked over to an old fort which had a broken wall and an old blue door; you could walk around the right side of the wall, to the other side without opening the door. Behind the wall was a moat and a series of steps that went down to the water line and then came back up again to the rear side of the door. And intersecting the moat was another wall that acted as a bridge, that you could walk across the top of, that was quite wide and able to accommodate all four of us side by side.

We walked along the bridge and a drone flew by; and the drone was bowl shaped and black with a yellow trim up by its wings. It hovered briefly over the water before snapping out of sight.

And once we turned back and were returning to the fort’s front wall we noticed the water level had risen, perhaps because of the tide, and the drone was back again. This time it was a bit more menacing. It flew closer to us, just missing Lizzie and I, and then it went after Siobhan who had walked ahead. She was up by the intersection where the bridge and the wall’s steps met.

Siobhan ducked down to avoid the swoop of the drone and dived into the water which now covered the steps. Then she surfaced where the steps rose up close to the door. Only her head and right arm visible, she was holding onto the top step, but also she looked dazed.

Liam and I ran back along the path and I thought to walk down the first set of steps and up the second to where she was. But then I would have gotten my camera wet because all but the top steps were covered in water. I didn’t think it would survive that amount of time in the moat.

Then Liam had an idea. “Why don’t we try the door from the front?”

And so we walked back around the wall. And the door was old with chipped paint and we weren’t sure we were allowed to open it. I turned the heavy round silver knob of the door and we stepped through.

No one stopped us.

“Good idea, Liam,” I acknowledged as I closed the door behind us.

Next to the door sat an old cart leaning with its wheel barrow handles on the path. It was right next to where the steps began, where Siobhan held on.

But there was no trace of Siobhan.

A few bathers were paddling out in the moat but she was not one of them. We looked out across the water, and briefly one woman in the same dark brown bathing suit as Siobhan surfaced, but she had long dark brown hair.

Perhaps she had slipped unconscious while holding onto the step.

We peered into the water but it was murky and there was no way to see anything deeper than a few feet. And this time I thought to dive down to see if she had drowned.

Then Liam cried out.

“Mama,” he wailed in a plaintive voice.

Photo from Wallpaper Flare

October 23, 2022November 27, 2022

How to Put Down a Cat (or Not)

After the last time we had to put down our cat, I was resolved to get someone new.

That time, when the cat’s throat was slit the blood spurted deep red in multiple flashes. It went high, so that the blood went everywhere and there was a lot to clean up.

This time we advertised and a young woman answered our call.

June 7, 2022October 22, 2022

Anatomy of a Murder

The anatomy of a murder: I am with Amy, now a psychopath’s girlfriend, right before he murders her; and we are replaying the scene leading up to the event.

The psychopath is a fat puffy man and he jealously governs his actions. His fat fingers will take a knife to her throat and slit her neck.

May 4, 2022June 15, 2023

Jamal Ahmad was Shot Dead in the Age of Gentrification

I dream that I am crossing the road using the pedestrian bridge. It climbs high to clear the noisy traffic below and is all grey steel and yellow girders, clanging with my steps.

It was where Jamal Ahmad was shot dead. I have the magazine article about the unjust killing of a black man in my jacket pocket, rolled up .

There is menace in the air and a number of parades are scheduled for commemoration and protest.

As I exit the other end of the pedestrian bridge several black youths are coming the other way along the footpath. They climb the steps, and scatter; they push their way past me, and start to holler. I don’t know how to express sympathy without seeming churlish.

But I need to get back home, and so I take a short cut through the shopping mall. The back way cuts through a pub that is thick with smoke and the smell of day old booze. Wooden panels and TV screens; it looks like Celtic are playing, maybe with Rangers, but I can’t see the score.

I could have a drink. There is a full pint of lager on the counter in a tall glass, but I think better of it and exit the back way, through a corridor into the hotel. And the hotel is newly done up with bright yellow walls and black moldings. Sleek black furnishings, oversized leather couches and side tables are arranged across white tile.

As it is early in the morning only one half of the lobby is lit and the lights are still off on the far side. I remember when it used to be a department store; Marks and Sparks, 70s decor, long overdue for a refurbishment. Then I exit through the swing doors at the front and am back on the high street.

A parade is walking by in memory of the shooting. We gather by the side as the parade comes close. The parade occupies the width of the road and I want to take a photo but am not sure it is a good idea. Plus a very fat woman in grey track suit is in the front bearing down on us, and it won’t make for a good photo. Behind me I catch another bystander taking a photo so I turn back to the parade and snap one anyway.

The parade passes by me and at the end of the line is the coffin, white, close enough to touch, and held up by three men either side. I see only their hands grip the base and I feel my tears well up. But a black man comes up to me. I can’t tell whether he is about to threaten me.

“Yeah I know,” I say, but I don’t really know what to say and I start to cry. Another man dances past me, spiky Afro hair that springs as he moves.

“How’d he die? Did he get away before he fell?’ He asks to no one in particular.

And after the parade has gone by I cross the road; it marks the way home though I don’t recognize any of it. It has changed so much since I lived there.

I am lost but for an instant, when I see the Uxbridge Road. It is now a covered plaza, with sleek metal beams on the roof and on the road. It is a pedestrian only area, it looks nice, newly done; but it is still not clear where I am.

Looking in the other direction, there are more new buildings that I do not recognize. I turn the other way and around the north east corner, coming into view, is the old St. Peter’s church. That’s the way.

At least old buildings can’t be got rid of so easily. And can help you navigate the way.

Photo by Chad Davis via Flickr