In dreams, I walk… #2
Another in a continuing series of the nocturnal ramblings of the aberrant subconsciousness of Louche…
I was walking along Caledonian Road, North London (near where we used to live) when I saw a small boy on his bike, peddling furiously towards me. As he sped closer and closer, we both realised that he was going too fast to stop in time and would likely collide with me. He pulled hard on his brakes and the bike tipped forwards, throwing him from the saddle. I instinctively put a hand out to stop him and it gently contacted with his oncoming forehead.
His head came off.
The bike fell, he fell, albeit in two pieces. There was no blood. Just a small boy’s head and body, quite separate, on the pavement.
I recall a moment of “Shit, what am I going to do? His head… came off.” Not panic so much as a feeling of awkwardness; I didn’t feel that it was my fault, just that I wasn’t really sure what to do next.
And that was my dream.
. . .
In the morning I woke up and Miss Rose Thorne asked me “What were you dreaming about last night?”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you were laughing and l a u g h i n g . . .” she replied.