The Bad For Business Dream

A woman was passed out in the toilets of my work. We tried waking her, gave her water, but she threw it back up. We tried everything we could possibly think of. But by the time the ambulance came, she was dead.
Only not all of her died. The contagion she carried passed on throughout our customers, until one by one they had all dropped to the floor and stopped breathing.
Body bag after body bag was removed from the pub. The floor was littered in them. You couldn’t move for fear of stepping on a dead body. My boss decided we’d stay open later.
A person I knew came in with a pram. I asked if me and my colleague could take the baby for a walk, get away from the stench of death. She agreed. We pushed the pram around until we got to a sloping street, and the baby managed to climb out of the pram and crawl away at super fast speed. I held onto the pram while my colleague chased after it. It was a nice pram, one of those posh black and white ones on four big wheels that you imagine the upper class to have.
My colleague caught the baby, but then yelled for my help.
It had somehow managed to undress itself in the corner of a wooden gazebo, and was writhing too much for any one person to hold it and dress it.
After a bit of effort we sorted it out, and stood up to take in our surroundings. We were in a small, poor village with lots of metal jutting out of the earth. We could see a small pottery shop – think more Arabian Nights than High Street – so we headed there to ask for directions.
An old woman sat in a rocking chair out the front. She took particular interest in the baby – an interest that unnerved me – and invited us in for supper. Once we and her family were sat around the tiny wooden table, I remembered the pram. I made my excuses and told her why I needed to go.
“Oh it’ll be long gone by now,” she said. “Nothing lasts long in this neighbourhood.”
She was right. The pram was gone. “Oh well,” I thought. “At least she’s still got her baby. We can buy her a new pram.”
Nevertheless I searched around the village for it. This place was so poverty riddled. All the people with sunken faces and ragged clothes looked up or shrank back into the shadows when they saw me. I sighed. This was hopeless.
I made my way back to work to find it packed full of people trying to find out what had happened. I saw a few people from my University course, and they asked me for details. I leant against a pillar and nearly cried whilst telling them. I told them I was there when it first started, and how everyone had just simply died. They murmured their sympathy, then carried on drinking.
It was 4am, and drinks were still being bought. It was busier than before the mass genocide of all our customers. I joined in downing sambucas and anything else that was bought for me. “For the shock,” I said.
My boss didn’t seem too fussed that the other two members of staff had vanished for a while. The mother of the baby was nowhere to be seen.


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