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.
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.
posted by Simon John Parkin at 6:20 AM
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