There
was one really scarey dream that haunted my everyday life.
I dreamt that I’d killed someone. It was so real that at
one point I couldn’t tell whether I’d actually killed him
or not. In fact I thought I probably had, but I’d wiped it
from my memory, and it was coming back to me as a dream.
I remember where I did it. And I remember getting rid of
the body.
It was at the bottom of the street where I lived. I had a
room in a shared house at the time, in Sheffield. I used to
walk around Sheffield like it was my back garden in those
days. The place was so friendly. Anyway, on one of those
walks, this bloke just exposed himself to me. He was an old
bloke. I just thought ‘fuck off’. ‘Fuck off you old git’ I
said, or something like that. Then he came at me and I just
got so angry. I knocked him over and banged his head on the
floor. I just hit him and hit him and hit him. Until he was
dead.
I thought, ‘Oh shit, I’ve killed him!’.
I hid him under a bush at the bottom of the street.
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