In the dream, he drifted by streets with low buildings, as small churches, filled with plates and metal crucifixes. The tiny sidewalks were very narrow and it seemed it had rained. It was night time and he was accompanied by his father. A crack of candles reminded him of Easter, but rather than wax and incense, the air smelled of ripe fruit. Black images were praying in fearful silence. When he recognized his already dead relatives, he realized he was not dreaming.
Original title: Sueño 48
Translation: Alejandra Funes