The skeletal part is more exhilarating. While some skeletons go for a burton, others are not abided by the law of mortality, especially the ones who live in a decaying house. This nightmare is a case in point. Even when you don’t like skeletons, later they grow on you. Just like that.
As my glance alighted on the skeleton straddling a horse wanting to canoodle me, of course, in my dream or maybe in reality…I didn’t cow and we got into an altercation. The skeleton professed something close to the bones without mincing a word which clearly was the truth…but it was ample to drive anyone bonkers. As he rammed his story down my throat, it was clear that the skeleton was not an affable guy. My defiance predominantly depended upon the fact that my mother never properly counted legs. The skeleton, crooked as a dog’s hind leg, was the one in the wrong — in case you like to place the blame on someone. Even if I was at odds with him, I didn’t want to say anything incriminating as it was just a dream. There was no need to put someone’s nose out of joints if you’re strong enough to maintain the semblance of sanity even when it is just milking a duck.
Hence, instead of baring my bones, I gulped the acrid feelings back and kissed him goodbye. Next morning the grottiness petered out.
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