I had been processed
For the past week or so I have been plagued by nightmares. I am in no doubt that it is to do with the bones. My body shudders uncontrollably at the thought.
However, the nightmares seem to go as follows. I am in the darkness of the cave by the fjord, put to work by my own volition. I labour to pull endless folds of earth from the walls. My hands are numb, clotted with mud, and I can hardly tell one motion from the next as I scramble ever deeper. I push so hard that my vision becomes blurry. It is too late for me to realise that I am being consumed by some strange, ungodly force. The mud binds itself around my limbs, enclosing my torso, and eventually my face. I cannot breathe, but I persist, well beyond normality.
This is when I wake up. But, on one occasion, I made it through to the other side. I emerged from a different cave, leading out to the same fjord, to the same faraway view. I collapsed to my knees, and brought up my hands. They were skeletal. It seemed that the earth, like some violent machine, had stripped away my flesh.