I had a dream that was set in an old town over a century ago, the sort of town you might see at Sovereign Hill in the Ballarat goldfields.
I watched a group of women out walking with their children. One mother went inside a store to fossick for material and while she was inside, a young boy, presumably her son, carried her baby in his arms.
To hold onto the baby the boy gripped tightly, too tightly it seemed.
‘Let go,’ one of the other children said to him as she began to wrestle the baby from his arms. But the boy held rigid. His arms circled the baby’s torso like a python .
The girl tried even harder to pull the boy’s arms apart, as did other children who joined in, but still he would not let go.
The baby who had been whimpering became floppy. Its head lolled to one side.
I knew then it was too late and the baby was dead.