bringing back the bone

in my dream I’m sitting in the second row of the only theatre I know how to play in. the stage is lit like the lounge of an old manor in a movie on a stormy night. unfamiliar actors emerge from different doors in period costume. their diction is sharp as the dialogue and the tension between the characters is tangible. I think I’m watching a murder mystery or thriller until one of them descends into the audience, none of whom seem to notice or care. she approaches me as the rest of the cast play on and I realise I’ve seen her before in a play that had her possessed by a ghost and dancing on the dining table. she takes my hand and I follow her through a door. once we’re offstage she asks for my clothes. taking them for herself, she dons me in her costume before leaving to sit in the second row.

not knowing what to do, I creep slowly through the door onto the stage, hoping I might go unnoticed. I am called on by the actors I’ve never met, and play along as best I can. they have me dusting the set and clearing tables. I dash round the stage and feel exposed in the unfamiliar dress despite the stockings. the lights are warm and I’m treading water but I catch the current quick. they throw me offers and I jump for laughs and I’m a dog bringing back the bone for more. I hear the gasps and laughter from the dark and we play the rhythm well. it works until the point I reach too far. the corpse is revealed and I can’t contain my shock, throwing up into a cup that overflows a toxic green. my costars turn my way in shock and the strangers in the dark go silent. all eyes are fixed on me and my mistake. I shirk into myself and shed the dress I’ve dirtied but they’re all still looking. the stage is mine and I have nothing to say.

when I wake I relish the thought of a story to tell and a part to play. the air is heavy with the hangover of another disappointment. I rush my shower to clock in on time.