shrinking hand collection

I am arranging a small box I’ve been given. It it is filled with hands of various sizes and muted colors, there are about 12 of them. I am standing them on their flat sliced wrist. The box also has water and stones in it. It is as if it is an aquarium. People are watching me arrange my hand collection. One hand in particular stands out. It is pale, tiny, thin, and the fingers are long. No one seems to mind what I’m doing, and I have no idea why I am doing it. The grotesque nature of act doesn’t seem to be of issue to anyone nor myself.
– – –
I am walking with my brothers and friends (Patrick & Jen) down a busy city street. The buildings surrounding us are about 10 stories tall and mostly lack any right angles, almost all have terraces. There is a giant asian woman standing on one of the buildings to our left, we are directly beneath her. She is taller than any building in the city. She is swaying back and forth; and although her appearance is sinister, she doesn’t seem to take any notice of the tiny life buzzing beneath her. As we are walking I remember that I have been on top of that building before, and I have also unknowingly been as tall as the woman. I recall how, not so long ago, I was looking down on a tiny world and was able to pick up cars as if they were toys. I explain how interesting the experience was to my companions and recommend they try it. I tell them the woman isn’t actually a giant, but something happens to your perception when you stand on the building in that particular spot. It is not you that grows, but everything else that shrinks — yet everything and everyone shrinks in proportion to itself and each other so no one is aware of the massive change that has taken place. So we believe we see a giant, but if this giant were to turn around, all the people she came with onto the roof of the building would all seem of normal size. And when the person leaves the rooftop all things neatly and swiftly resize themselves and no notice of it is made.
We arrive at Patrick & Jen’s condo, and they start to give us things: shoes, sandals, lots of diamond-plated dental tools, some caulk, and a red drill. My bag is full, and I laugh saying they are giving me all their stuff again. Patrick warns me not to caulk up any of the holes in my house. I think his warning has something to do with the way homes are ventilated in this city. I take my leave. I descend the stairwell and when I reach the door glowing white beams are jetting out through its edges. Something isn’t right. Something has happened to the world outside. I reach out and turn the handle and as the whiteness streams out and envelops me I close my eyes to avoid its painful blindness. It doesn’t matter, the flesh of my eyelids isn’t enough to block this white energy from penetrating my mind. And when I feel my eyes open I see my arm outstretched before me sideways. I am lying on my bed. Awake. ♨


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