Within a week of her death, my father dreamt about my grandmother. They were sitting in the garden in front of the house, entertaining guests late into the afternoon. He remembered her getting up and walking towards the house, holding the walking cane in her right hand but not using it. My mother too dreamt about my grandfather within days of his death. They met in the state office building where he was waiting to meet with the CM. When she asked him how he was, he said “it doesn’t smell anymore”. I dreamt about death too. In my dream, I murdered someone. I don’t remember how I did it or why I did it, only that my victim was a beautiful woman.

This post is in response to Weekly Writing Challenge: Collecting Detail at


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