I dreamed I had died by the roadside.

Where I was, how I came to be there, or how I had
died, all this was a mystery. Anyway, by the time
I knew I had died, I was lying there deact.

I heard magpies cry, then crows. The air was very
fresh -- though it carried a tang of the soil -- it must
be nearly dawn. I tried to open my eyes, but the lids
would not move, as if they simply did not belong to
me. Then I tried to raise my hands, and it was the
same.

I felt a sudden stab of fear through my heart.
When I was alive it used to amuse me to think: If a
man's death were simply the paralysis of his motor
nerves while sensation still remained, that would be
more frightful than total death. Who could tell that
my prophecy would come true, or that I was to testify
to its truth myself?

I heard footsteps: someone was passing by. A
wheel-barrow was pushed past my head; its load was
probably heavy, for its squeaking and creaking grated
on my nerves and set my teeth on edge. Then every-
thing seemed to turn crimson: the sun must have
risen. So I must be facing east. Not that it mattered.
A babble of human voices -- curious onlookers. They
raised a cloud of dust which flew up my nose and
made me want to sneeze. I was unable to, though; I
just wanted to.

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