The Dead that are Not Dead in Dreams

There was a disaster of some sort- a fire, perhaps- and the death of the rescuers. I entered the place, and it was destroyed mostly but for a room or 2. The bodies of the dead rescuers had been put on tables or beds in one room. I felt uneasy seeing them. The bodies were a few days dead and in the beginning stages of decomposition. I understood there to be some research or experimentation going on- although this was not shared explicitly, and there seemed a level of secrecy around it.
I had the sense that these men who had died in vain pursuit of virtuous protection of other’s lives and livelihoods were being desecrated. There were small things- like rats or tiny rodents- inside the bodies. One body in particular seemed to be providing some real sustained life to these things- or the things were providing sustained life to the body. It was not clear. Perhaps it was both.
Some small people showed up. Like dwarves. They behaved very cynically. One of the dwarves spotted the dead-but-alive full sized body and sprang at it. He encased himself among the bones, rotting flesh, mushy muscles, loose connective tissue. He began to breathe through the toxic decomposing gassy slurry of the body’s lungs. And the body began to move. I observed in increasing concern, with disturbed fascination. I wondered why anyone would want to become one with a dead body. His other dwarf friends, or comrades, were of a competitive but in-group-preference attitude. I asked, “what about your dwarf comrades?”
And the dead body that was not dead spoke. It was the dead man’s voice, being used by the dwarf animate. “I don’t give a shit about them. I’m bigger now.” And he began to move. Not just breathe and exist, but to move volitionally.
He sat up, and I suddenly felt terror. His focus was on me, and he grinned glintingly. His movements were still slow, cumbersome, stiff, but he came at me suddenly, violently. I skirted away. I felt good in my living body. the alive-ness fluidity, flexibility, strength, vive in direct contrast to the corpse I felt sensationally. And I knew hew felt it, too. He wanted and hated my alive-ness.
Again he lurched but I easily evaded, then ran out of the room. I knew he would follow me by some knowledge that the rotting corpse brain would be incapable to change or to self reflect on his single-minded focus. He chased because he wanted and hated, to stay still was torture, and there was nothing else that could satisfy his want and hate other than to pursue it. So I ran. The corpse pursued. He became faster, stronger, more agile and before long I recognized that I would not out maneuver full grown man of that strength and stature. So I thought; I should wear him down. Break his already rotting body.
So I made his pursuit intense. I climbed, jumped, swam, swung, and eventually came to a high platform I knew that I could jump from- but which might break a badly deteriorated body. I waited on the platform, because he hesitated to follow, perhaps suspecting my intent, or unsure of the double-bind in which he found himself; pursue his love/hate object because that is only way he can possibly avoid feeling the torture of awareness of his own death and destroy his existence in doing so. Or stop pursuing, become aware of his anguish in death, relinquish his love/hate object and have a possibility of extracting himself from the corpse-death that he currently resided in, and live his life anew.
Just as I was aware that he pondered this dichotomous choice, another dwarf came up beside me, calculated the jump, and made it with relative ease. My heart dropped as the corpse, having seen this, moved toward me slowly. I waited. I was reluctant to jump, waiting for the best possible moment. For both my own interest to live, and his; if I jumped too soon he would not need to jump- he could descend at his leisure and continue the pursuit without risk. If I jumped late, he would surely follow in a frenzy of too-close-to-call and get his wish of sure extinction.
“You hate your fellow dwarves,” I reminded him. “why trust them and hate me?”
He paused again, on the brink of uncertainty. The pungent rotting of his flesh was unbearable to us both, but for more moments he hesitated. His self loathing spurred action: a decision had to be made.
I want to believe that he collapsed and struggled free of the dead body in which he’d encased himself. I can imagine it.
I also imagine him jumping, and continuing to pursue me in a hateful frenzy. I don’t know which was true in my dream.