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Horrid Spaniard


Old Woman Hut

(i)

I was running.

I wasn’t sure where or why – I just was.

And it was one of those blind panic runs.

Something snapped to my left and I looked, but I couldn’t see shit.

I was still running, but from what I had no idea.

I just knew that it wasn’t good and I had to outrun it.

”Turn your alarm off for fuck’s sake”

I’d forgotten pretty much every night that first month that I didn’t have a full time job anymore.

I’d also forgotten that I didn’t have to wake up at stupid o’clock to shower & go into the misery factory for 7.30am.

So my Monday-Friday 6.30am alarm had stayed on.

”Sorry – my bad”.

What was I running from?

Fucking nightmares.

They’d leveled off over the past few years from the night terrors I’d had as a child, but they were still there.

I’m not sure what the root cause was, or even if it was a normal frequency of bad dreams I had.

Either way they’d usually float off into space once I’d surfaced and had my morning caffeine.

Just then Charlie started crying.