"You've never had a nightmare?" asked someone, incredulously.
I put it down to not having exposed myself to that kind of thing. What I failed to realise I think, is that those are probably not the only type of nightmares. Where this came from then, I don't know. I'm just mildly annoyed that having proudly claimed to have lived a nightmare-free life, I went and had one (of sorts) just a few days later.
I had a dream that I was standing on a jetty next to a large party boat, packed with drunk young people. Some were sprawled across the deck, others were embracing in dark corners. There was drunken laughter and cheering and the sound of glasses rolling across the wood as the ship, the Antigua, bobbed on the tide, all underpinned by the long low thud of a bassline, thumping from somewhere inside.
For some reason, I was doing my best to get them off the boat. It was cold and the night air was clasping around me, its icy fingers tightening as I called out form the jetty. I can't remember what I was saying; only that whatever it was felt urgent as though I somehow knew that they had to disembark. Some young men were jeering, leaning over the side, beer swirling at the bottom of their glasses. One made a rude gesture with his fist and his friends erupted into laughter. A beer bottle smashed on the wood somewhere near me, and some girls shrieked with delight. The music grew louder.
I remember looking up at the stars. There was something sad and cold about them twinkling silently in the pitch black night. Beneath their ancient gaze, the warm glow of the Antigua spilled out upon the inky sea and the old wooden jetty. I lowered my eyes.
Out at sea, something was happening. The horizon, barely visible in the darkness, was changing, bulging and growing. A sea-breeze blustered in and spattered my face with spray. I looked back to the boat. No-one had noticed. I shouted. Nothing. They couldn't hear me. I couldn't hear me. It was as though my voice had lodged in my throat. I looked frantically back out to sea. The great wave was rushing inwards, I looked back to the boat, looked back to the dark ocean, and ran for my life.
I sprinted down the jetty, leapt from its wooden planks and rolled onto the grass. I could hear it rushing, crashing, pouring in. There were screams, profanities, all kinds of language. There were shouts of 'God, help us!' echoing through the air as I scrambled up the hill, clutching the muddy grass with my fingers. I looked back just in time to see the Antigua flip helplessly into the air like a toy boat, then smash horrendously upon the jetty. It was as though it was made of balsa wood. It cracked apart, splintering into pieces; the hull ripped open, the water sweeping in over the wreckage and in less than a few seconds, the party boat, the Antigua and the old jetty were completely gone. The seawater pounded inland, roaring like a lion. The screaming had stopped. I lay back on the hillside and looked at the stars, trying to catch my breath through my tears.
And I woke up.
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