I hated my last night alive, but at least back then the world made sense.

There are a number of reason that last night sucked but I'll give you the broad strokes.

I hate clubs.

The music is too damn loud, usually shitty remixes of the latest crap pushed out of the top 40 and you have to scream yourself hoarse in order to have the person next to you hear you. The booze is overpriced and watered down with more ice than the bloody arctic and then you have to endure all this while simultaneously stumbling in the dark and avoiding being blinded by flashing lights every colour under the sun.

So why was I here you might ask?

I was tricked into it of course.

All I wanted on my birthday was a night quiet time in one of the local pubs, a few pints, couple games of pool, maybe some takeaway after.

Muffled yelling* Charlie was trying to get my attention, the 'music' suffocating his words.

"Whaa" I yelled at Charlie. I know, how eloquent of me, but then the neon green vodka-ry water slurry (why did I have to be born the same week as St. Patrick's day?)

really was taking effect, less to do with the booze, nd all to do with the fact I may have passed into the double digits.

Rolling his eyes he drags us over to the entrance, leaning in he yells again,

"JOHNNY'S THROWING UP AGAIN, I'M GUNNA GET HIM HOME."

I saw my chance to escape this sticky floored torture chamber and took it.

"NAHH, HIS PLACE IS WALKING DISTANCE TO MINE, I'LL TAKE HIM, I'VE HAD TOOOOOMUCHANYWAYS" I slurred for added effect.

Charlie argued that it was my night out and as I grumbled to myself as it was far from how I would've liked to enjoy this evening. Not taking no for an answer I got Charlie to give it up so after managing to secure a taxi, a 20 minute journey and dodging the rain I managed to get Johnny to stumble through his door and chuckled to myself when he flopped uncerimo and I was onto the sofa before landing on the floor, he managed to drag a cushion on to the floor and roll onto it lazily.

Leaving him to his inevitable hangover I started to stumble home.

London was never really quiet and as the cool summer breeze wafted over me so did the sounds; a party a street over, the rumbling of the tube as it popped out from one tunnel into another and the sirens in the distance on the way to or from some accident or incident…wait those are getting louder.

This is where it all went wrong for me, guess it was a wrong place wrong time situation, but what happened next still leaves me confused.

A ridiculous lime green Volkswagen Beetle with a matching giant shamrock stuck in the roof of it came skidding around the corner, with two police cars and a riot van tailing it, going 50, 60 easy in a 30 zone.

The giant shamrock lost control and went into a spin, veering off the road and onto the road again, I later realised I thought I was a goner there and then and then, little did I know it was going to be a few seconds later.

I don't know much about cars, and the whole thing happened so fast I couldn't be sure but either a wheel blew or an axle snapped but the whole green monstrosity came hurtling towards me, my last thought being that they even tinted the headlights to shine green, and the same headlights flashed a moment before turning me to mincemeat, the sickly green light encompassed all and I could feel myself screaming and screaming but there was no deep yell of a 20…8? 27? year old, instead the wail of a baby escaped my lungs.

The street.

The car.

The green headlights.

The sickly green flash.

A dark room, torn apart, fading into nothingness.

As I passed out, a thin line of blood, my blood, trickled down my forehead and everything about who I was, my name, the colour of my hair, my shoe size. All the facts about what I looked like and who I was were vanished, my likes, dislike and personality persisted.

What remained was more important.

My life experiences, what I had learnt, where I had gone, what I had watched and what I had read.