A Place In The Sun.
Others apart sat on a hill retir’d
In thoughts more elevate, and reason’d high
Of providence, foreknowledge, will and fate... Milton
The haunting melodies of a child's verse drifted across the hazy suburban middle class terraces of the Mid-Wirral peninsula: 'Row, Row, Row the boat merrily up the stream, merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily' life is but a dream'
Professor Gread thrashed out instinctively with his left hand, in a pathetic attempt to extinguish the sheet of blood red napalm flame that ravaged his right arm. The sight and the sound and the smell and the agony of burning flesh sent shock waves through his being. A hollow interior voice seemed to echo throughout his skull...
"And to others I am a nightmare... a nightmare... a nightmare!"
The man crashed onto his knees - his head wrenching back and upwards - as a spinning wheel sun danced through columns of smoke as thick as black tar. The leafy, lazy suburbs of Port Sunlight metamorphosed into sickly shades of olive green and flaming orange - spiralling into whirlpools of pain. A black stretch limousine crawled away from the man; its liquid black tinted windows reflected the horror scene on Mason Avenue.
****************
"Once again we would like to apologise to passengers for the delayed departure of flight 321 to Nice."
The silk smooth voice over the intercom reverberated throughout the white clinical interior spaces of Manchester Airport. Gread’s thick grey eyebrows twitched and flinched as his soul emerged from the dream - like a tiny cork rapidly ascending through volumes of dark and treacherous storm-water. He raised his head off the palm of his hand and pulled himself upright, unfocused eyes glancing upwards at the thick glass sculptures that hung like semi-opaque icicles from the terminal ceiling.
"What was that?" He mumbled sleepily to a figure on his left.
"321s been delayed, Doc; looks like we’re in for a long wait. We'll get a ship next time heh' - or a boat!" The figure – a young man in his early 20’s - slipped into a semi-reclining position on the black lounge sofa. The professor took a few sips of cold black coffee from a plastic beaker.
"Row, row, row the boat..." the stranger began to sing.
The professor sat upright and carefully adjusted his blue polka dot bow-tie. He twisted down the corners of his mouth and sighed.
"Typical!" he grumbled to himself. He glanced at the young man and eye scanned him up and down suspiciously. The chirpy colourful stranger saluted him with his right hand.
“Name’s Merlin – and I’m here to help you!”
Gread glared at him for a few seconds.
“Do I know you?” asked the professor.
“Well – not yet. But you will – soon!”
Gread heaved in a deep breath. He stood up, gathered his belongings and walked off. “Nutballs – everywhere you go! Nutballs!” he groaned.
"Be seeing you!" replied the young man..
