The house in Kerry is full of friends and family of all ages. My sister is putting on an art exhibition and pieces of her work hang at intervals around the main room. Someone has painted the walls a series of gaudy colours, layers of pink, orange and blue.
Everyone is having a grand time. I don’t feel too happy. There’s a threatening air to the evening. I make small talk with people I half-know and half-like.
Later on everyone at the party start taking ecstasy. My parents take some, all grins. I wonder if there’s any point in my not taking ecstasy when even my parents are. But I don’t. I am sober and now everyone is having an even better time.
A girl comes screaming down the stairs. “Blood! Blood! There’s a girl and there’s blood!” She’s pointing back up the stairs.
I feel relieved and shout “It’s okay. I can drive her to the hospital. I’m sober.” I tell two men to go get the girl and I run outside to start the car. It is raining heavily and as I get over to the car I realise that the rain is not water. The wrong colour. The wrong smell. It’s raining blood. Fat drops out of the night sky. I look at it streaming off my hand under the porch light. There’s a whistling sound and the first body hits the ground wetly. Whump. Whump, whump. More bodies, on the drive, on the lawn. One bounces off the roof and lands beside me. I wake up.