I'd forgotten how often we saw Magritte (colubra) wrote,
I'd forgotten how often we saw Magritte

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you know, I'd rather not dream.

So I had what started as a tedious dream last night. Was at my parents' house, for some reason my father had decided that Tad Williams' 'Otherland' quartet looked like good reading.
So he borrowed them.

Now, despite the fact that these books have pretty distinct and unified covers and spines, Dad for some reason had thought that about 20 other books by different authors were of the same series, and I was patiently picking through the box looking for the four he wanted to borrow while explaining that he only needed those four-- and then I notice this... pocket on my left hand.
Look at the palm of your hand. Now imagine you're wearing a rubber glove, and on that rubber glove is a small little pocket where it bent against itself while it was cooling. Put this at the base of your ring finger, right along that crease that separates 'palm' from 'finger'.
Now turn the rubber into your skin. Okay, I think to myself, no idea how that happened but no big deal- I'll just stretch my hand outwards a bit, and that'll tear the adhered skin and I'll be back to normal.
Streeetch-- and THE SKIN OF MY PALM CAME UNATTACHED, in a line from below the index finger over to the pinkie-- and then partway down from the index towards the thumb.
There wasn't any blood, none at all- it was like opening up a rubber doll: painless, and easy. And I could see- what in hell was that- what the- Oh, they're the bones of my hand. Huh. And if I move my fingers they- yep, they DO move. That's- Oh, shit, I should probably wrap this up, that'd be a terrible place to get something stuck and wind up with an infection, Hey mom look at this--

And I woke up terrified.

Anybody got the faintest guess what THAT could be about?

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