Thursday, January 19, 2006

It was common practice for me to stay heavily awake for whole weekends at a time.

One such weekend, it had got to Sunday night and I hadn't slept since Friday. At 2am I was finally drifting into a gritty-eyed slumber when I heard something outside.

Horses hooves.

I shook my head to wake myself up from what was obviously a dream.

No. A horse galloping. Getting louder, closer.

I got up and got to the window in time to see a white horse gallop full-steam down the white lines of the road. It was going so fast its mane was billowing behind it.

What the hell?! Such a disturbing sight at 2am.

The vision stayed with me through the night but eventually I got some sleep.

The next day I mentioned it to my work mates. I was working part-time in a shitty cash and carry warehouse at the time, throwing boxes around so that I could afford pills and entrance fees. My friend told me that Indians believe if you see a white horse you will die in the next week. Ha ha, very funny.

The next week I went to a club called Shelleys in Stoke. A week earlier some kid had died in there. There were rumours that the door search was going to be stringent so I necked my drugs before I went in there. They all came up at once, which was good for the first half an hour, then I really felt awful. I mean bad. I thought I was going to pass out and it took all my energy to stay conscious. I looked in the mirror and a skeleton looked back. My friends looked out for me and I was alright by the time the club finished, but only after five hours of thinking I was going to die. All I could imagine was my parents coming back off holiday and me not being there to meet them.

Then, a few days later I was walking up my street when a car came screeching round the corner being chased by a police car. The car mounted the kerb, out of control, and hit the wall, just where I was about to walk. A bunch of kids got out the car and were grabbed by the coppers.

I know the horse had probably escaped from the fields behind my house where a few sad looking nags were kept for dog meat or something. And I know that paranoia had probably made me believe I was going to die at the club. And that the chance of me walking along the street where the car crashed were slim. But, still.


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