I’m going to die. Maybe not right now, although that is entirely possible, but I am most definitely going to die. I’m going to die. I can’t believe it. I don’t want to die. But it’s going to happen. Oh shit. One day I will be dead. I’m going to die.

What was that noise? Is that somebody downstairs? Is there somebody in the house? Somebody broke in. They will be wearing a mask, almost certainly, and carrying a gun or a knife. They might come upstairs. Shit. I need a weapon. What can I use as a weapon? What’s on my bedside table? Alarm clock? No good. Electric toothbrush? No, I can’t see that working either. Notebook and pen? I could write a quick description of the intruder before he kills me for the police to find, and they could use it to track him down and arrest him. But the intruder would see what I’m doing and take the description with him. Damn. Forget the bedside table, what else is in the bedroom? The duvet! I could smother him with it. Maybe. Oh shit, I’m going to die. (See above.)

Wait. What? Oh no, I think I’m lying in bed next to my mother. How the hell did that happen? This is awful. Is she asleep? Yes, thank goodness. Okay, I need to be really, realllly quiet. If I can just slide out of bed without waking her, it’ll be all right. I mean, no, it won’t be all right, not really, because I will always know that I was lying in bed next to my mother, and that thought will haunt me for the rest of my life. Wait a minute, she’s stirring. Oh shit. shitshitshitshitshitshit. Am I wearing anything? Boxers. I’m wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. I’m lying in bed next to my mother and I’m wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and she is about to wake up. I can’t believe this. How did this happen? Wait. What?

I’m having a heart attack! I’M HAVING A HEART ATTA— Wait. What?

Why am I standing at the top of the stairs?

I need the toilet AGAIN?

Oh no, please, please tell me I wasn’t having THAT dream again.

Is that the baby crying? Something woke me up. I think it was the baby crying. I can’t hear anything now though. Maybe if I lie here very still and listen really hard, then hopefully I won’t hear anything and I can go back to sleep. Listens really hard. Nope, nothing. That’s all right then. Starts drifting off to sleep. Is that the baby crying?

I so wish I hadn’t had that last pint.

What an amazing idea for a novel. I mean, that is just so bloody brilliant. That will be a bestseller, definitely. And a Man Booker winner, for sure. Maybe I should write the idea down, just in case I’ve forgotten it when I wake up. But that means I will have to turn the light on. And find a notebook. And a pen. But I’m tired. I don’t need to write it down. An idea that good? I will remember it still in the morning. Absolutely.

I’m going to die.