The body is in a sack. Or maybe it’s a very, very large piece of packing paper. Nonetheless, the body is in there, and I am needing to move it to be embalmed.
I am not concerned over the body. It’s already been legitimized in its death. I keep it covered so the people passing by the large window won’t get a look at it and freak out.
But these pieces of papers with the words on them are around on the bench the body is wrapped on, and if the police find these, I’m in big trouble. They tell the truth about what happened. This death wasn’t accidental. This was a murder.
As I pick up a couple of the pieces of paper, two uniformed officers walk past the window. They’re most likely not as focused on me as I am on being panicked that they are focused on me. I wad up a couple of the pieces of paper and shove them in my mouth. I chew natural in my mind, but probably over-exaggerated to the observer.
But for ever piece of paper I eat, more emerge, and I am distraught over it. How will I get rid of all of them before someone starts picking them up and reading them?
While I am aware in the dream of what the pieces of paper say, I do not bring the words back into the conscious world with me.