Death pays a visit

I just saw my own death.

Not in a metaphorical sense, but quite literally.

I was having a dream, the full details of which I will not bore you with. It involved a taxi journey, and it was night-time.

The taxi stopped and myself and my fellow passenger got out. He asked the driver to wait for a moment. We said our goodbyes (handshake, man-hug) and then the taxi driver decided he was bored of waiting and started to drive away - with my bag still in the car.

Shouting, I ran to the back of the cab, pulled the door open and got in. I proceeded to give the taxi-driver a mouthful of abuse whereupon he picked up my bag from the passenger seat and threw it at me - I caught it in my lap.

I uttered a coarse parting shot at which point the taxi-driver opened his glove-box, grabbed something and threw it at me. I caught it - an automatic reaction.

When I looked down at what he'd thrown me, it took me a moment to realise what it was - a gun.

Instantly, with awful clarity, I knew why he'd done it. It was so he could claim self-defence.

Immediately, I looked up to see he had another gun in his hand, pointed directly at me. He pulled the trigger, I heard the bang and felt the bullet hit my chest like a punch to the ribs.

I sat there, shocked, still holding the decoy gun he'd tossed at me, my ears ringing with the sound of the shot in the confined space.

At that point, I woke up.

It was the most extraordinarily vivid dream I can ever remember having. I felt that bullet slam into me. I heard the high-pitched whine in my head, an after effect of the loud noise in the confines of the taxi.

It's now 3:42 a.m. and I'm wide awake, still reeling mentally from it.

I'd like to sign off with some witty comment about the dangers of eating a cheese sandwich before bed (which I did) but am still too shaken.

Apologies for the disjointed nature of this post.