Wow, I must be in a bad way. I’m going to need help, he mused. He nudged the can with his forehead, forcing it to spin over, causing a trickle of fluid from one of the splits in the thin metal exterior. He smelt it as it leaked out and to his amazement, realised that it was Coca Cola.
Thirstily, he angled his head underneath and tentatively tasted the flow of liquid. He opened his mouth further, giving the sticky fizz a free passage over the desert of his tongue, past his breeze block tonsils and down into his arid throat. He’d never been a big Coke drinker, but this was heaven. The joy was short-lived, however, as the flow soon ceased.
Gradually he manoeuvred his body around to try and see the mystery hut that seemed to be following him. Ninety degrees, one hundred and eighty degrees, three hundred and sixty degrees and full circle, only to see foliage and the heat-weary grass. No hut.
Uhmmghhh! What? Er!
Mystified, he continued on his way, none the wiser but slightly refreshed by the mysterious drink.
Bacon and eggs. I could really do with bacon and eggs and a Frappucino with caramel. Maybe even an almond croissant, he thought to himself.
Thoughts of proper refreshment triggered enthusiasm amongst the neurotransmitters in his heavy limbs, spurring him on, even though he felt more like a donkey pulling a freight train. The vegetation got thicker and harder to progress through, but reward was soon realised when he came across a mini-jet of water spilling over the crest of a small rocky area high up to his right.
Excitedly, he positioned himself under the flow until it hit him full in the face, steam coming off his hot, bubbling skin like beer evaporating from sauna coals. It was super-chilled and totally soothing, smacking into his closed eyes, compressing them from the front, combating the pressure from behind, that made them feel they were about to pop out from his head like pellets from a peashooter.
It ran down his face, over his gasping mouth, down his neck and across his overheated upper body. It felt like ice-cream on a cold sore, Bonjela on a mouth ulcer or ice on a burn; painful, but irresistible and vitally necessary. Eagerly, he moved his head in fast jolts in and out of the aggressive flow, his open mouth gulping at the cool liquid, impatiently sucking down mouthful after mouthful, his tongue panting like an excited puppy’s. He tried to stretch his arms around into the cool flow but just couldn’t reach. They felt heavy and onerous, difficult to lift or even move. He realised he couldn’t feel his fingers or thumbs, which sharply focused his attention back from the watery salvation to his predicament. He had no idea where he was or why he felt so bad.
He continued on, awkwardly manoeuvring himself around in the slippery mud slime, when – thud - he was smacked on the head by an ant the size of a mouse. It had been shot out by the rapid flow of water, landing in front of him, startled, enormous, and unconditionally an ant.
It landed on its back and lay motionless for a split second in the small puddle before righting itself, struggling out of the water and disappearing into the undergrowth like a bullet into a cloud. Ed remained motionless and stared at the spot with disbelief. A massive Coke can, and now an ant that could easily be sold as a pet!
He decided it must be a dream. If he could have pinched himself then he would have, but without being able to feel his fingers, this was impossible. Besides, he had pinched himself numerous times in dreams only to find that he was still within the dream; a pointless intervention. Maybe instead he could play the dream at its own game, go to sleep and bypass the whole ridiculous fantasy and wake in his bed, not far from the kitchen, croissants, bacon, eggs and Frappucino. Sure, he was mighty hungry, but this must be a good option.
He patiently projected himself forwards through the muddy pool created by the water flow, his arms, legs and chin cooled further by the chilled churn. Exhausted and past caring, he lumbered on to a shady area hidden from view behind a large clump of super-sized grass.
Why on earth do I need to be hidden if it’s a dream? he mused, as he resigned himself to the situation. With his arms and legs flat out, he lay face down on the arid land, the heat of the sun moderated by the shade from the stalks of lifeless grass. Soon he drifted off into a calm, but light sleep, the tall dry leaves whispering in the wind from side to side.
Flashes of memories shot by. Mini snapshots, almost too short to recognise. A car, a road, the inside of a room, a desk, a stabbing pain in the ear, diving into a pool, falling from skis at high speed, jumping from a moving train, a blow job in the Sahara, being in a nappy, a gun, running and running, more running. Then a lift, a balcony and a roof top terrace covered in Astro turf, a football match, a road, and then all was blank, black, empty, zero, vacant, absent, invisible, undetectable and anonymous. An all-encompassing darkness with hermetically sealed silence. Sensory deprivation was a night club compared to this.