Every day is a good day to die. Today is one of such days.

I woke up this morning with a strong premonition of evil. I am not jinxed and I do not believe in hexes or witches who prefer broomsticks or banana leaves as means of transportation. But I swear when my feet touched the floor this morning I sensed it was gonna be a not-good day. What I did not know and had no way of knowing was that I was gonna be getting a hug from the grim reaper.

First, my car wouldn’t start. I have a Golf 4 that has served me about three years. It is still in top condition – tinted glasses, sound that will blow more sensitive tympanic membranes and air conditioning that never fails to drive the ladies into my arms. I checked the battery head, alternator and distributor cap. I couldn’t find the fault. I ended up leaving the car at home. I called my friend Yuzed and asked him very nicely to allow me use his Infiniti AWD to handle my biz for the day. He agreed – a tad reluctantly but I paid that no mind.

I was just crossing the road in front of my compound to pick a bike to Yuzed’s place when one taxi shows up doing nothing less than 60kmph. The driver must have mistaken our 10 meters wide road for the Autobahn. I barely have time to jump out of the way and into the drainage when he passes the spot I had occupied seconds before. Luckily for me the gutter was dry. I climb out cautiously, in case another lunatic looms around the corner.

The rest of the morning was without event. I had honored all my appointments and was on the way to the last when I saw a damsel in distress. I am a gentleman. I never leave a lady who needs help except she is ugly or married, in that order. This one did not seem to be either of the two – she definitely was not in the first class. I choose a good spot, stop the SUV and walk towards her.

Since my encounter with the 'Sisterhood of Nudies', I have become really sensitive to psychic vibrations. I could just walk past a person on the road, and if they have any clout in the realm of the invisible, I feel a crawling sensation, accompanied by a searing pain, originate from the two-inch scar on my forehead and progress to the base of my skull. The intensity and duration is determined by how much power the person possesses.

I was still a good two metres from the lady, when my head began to burn up. It felt like it would explode at any moment. The scar was actually throbbing. I did an about face, jumped into the car and tore off.

I turned the air conditioning all the way up. And using my index finger began to massage the line of prominent, twisted flesh that was memento of the day I danced with she-wolves. I had felt talons ripping my scalp and thought it was in my mind. It was while running down the road – with not a care as to my unclothed state or the dangling of my Lord of the Manor – that I knew it was not, as blood flowing down my face began to obstruct my vision.

I snapped back to reality as a fog horn penetrated the blanket of dark memories. A long vehicle, hauling a forty foot container, was bearing down on me. In my reverie I had left my line and was now directly in its path. Only a few seconds separated the vehicles. I yank the steering to the right and step on the accelerator.

I narrowly made it. The driver, a very dark, small man, indicates with his fingers that I am deranged. I smile. That was too much of a close shave for me to be mad at him. Afterwards, I focus on driving till I get to my destination.

In actuality, I did not make it. I succeeded in getting the nose of the car out, the truck hit the rear. The impact sent it spinning. Remember that I had driven off too quickly to strap on the seatbelt: when the SUV began its gyration, I obeyed the First Law of Motion and took flight. The window was powerless to stop me. I ended up sprawled on the road, injured and bleeding. Then my ears were treated to the loud squeal of tyres as an oncoming vehicle tried to avoid my prone form. I noticed with detachment that he would not make it. I heard the bang and succeeding crunch and darkness enveloped me.

The little boy is running behind a disused bicycle wheel whilst controlling it with a short stick. He is leading a pack of other boys with similar contraptions. Suddenly, the other boys and their wheels began to lift off from the ground. Initially, he was too focused on maintaining his lead that he did not see what was going on. Then he looked back and saw no one. And then he looked up. There they were ascending like – well, he couldn’t think of a simile at the moment – in their pants and shorts. He looked back. His wheel was morphing into a 13 foot Megatron. Presently, it shifted shape and became Darth Vader. Then it became both. He opened his mouth and screamed. Only there was no sound. His sound had been muted.

Vadertron reached out and clamped its metal claws around his throat and began to draw him into an ever expanding mandible. In this still film starring him, he was losing out. At the last moment he remembered the stick in his hand. He plunged it into one of the monster’s glowing eyes. It growled and let go – to attend to the injured eye. He commenced a free fall from there. Just before he hit the ground he regained his voice. He screamed.

I jerked awake in a hospital. A nurse was running toward me. I must have screamed.

“Are you alright?” she asked. I just stared. She proceeded to check my vitals. I switched off and reached for the dream…

I have had the same dream, with only minute variations, since my penultimate year in primary school.

There had been three of us burdened with free time, as is wont to on weekends, we decided to race. We got our wheels out, took positions and commenced. Okile was in the lead. The two of us realized almost instantly that we could not allow him to win – we would never live it down. We gave chase. I was rapidly gaining on him. He looked back, saw this, and tried to increase his speed. By the expiration of that fraction of a second it took him to look back, a bend in the road was upon us. And there was a vehicle there.

We were used to automobiles that made noise and smoked and jerked and required pushing. At some subconscious level we knew that vehicles were produced new. But we had never seen one. We did not know there were actually cars that were soundless.

The driver swerved but it was already late. The fender hit Okile’s wheel, then him. They went in different directions. Okile fell a short distance away. He would have been alright had his head not struck a stone. He died on the spot.
I felt responsible. That night, Vadertron came to get me.

“Oh! The patient is awake?” the sonorous melody of the voice scythed through my reflections and pulled me out. First, I saw the lab coat that emphasized more than concealed the bod behind it, then moved up to the stethoscope, resting on a full bosom. Then I saw the face.

It was the lady that had set off the chain that led to the accident.