A Survivor's Guide to Eternity(94)

As his body was tossed, turned and spun, he intermittently caught sight of the brilliant white light, burning into his skin like a powerful laser. Then suddenly he was inside the light, completely restrained and motionless, surrounded and baked in the violent, blinding, brightness. He could feel it penetrating into his body and through his organs as if he was a pudding in a microwave, before a high-pitched deafening tone of ten thousand kettle whistles ripped into his brain and rendered him unconscious.





Chapter 20

Strictly come cooking



Ed awoke with a painful sensation around his neck. It dug into his wind tunnel, dangerously restricting his breathing, causing a slight panic.

“Come on, Beamer, get over here, please. Come on, dog,” he heard as he felt his whole body yanked backwards, dragged by the restraint around his neck.

“What’s up with you, for Chrissake? Come on,” cried the voice of a young female, impatiently.

The whole commotion woke him fully and he soon realised he was once again transitioned into a dog. He looked down at his light brown, furry paws as his legs straightened, succumbing to the pulling on the lead whilst being yanked from a small basket. He was soon trotting along politely in the direction of the taut lead, feeling much daintier than he had as a killer hound. He looked around to see a neat and tidy house, smart white leather sofas, large flat screen TV and tasteful sand colour carpet. The walls were newly decorated and painted in a soothing light blue colour with yellow trim. He looked ahead and saw two fine legs in silk stockings with evocative open high-heeled shoes, crowned with a black pleated skirt just above the knee.

I could be up for a good view here, he thought, as he trotted behind the lady, catching up to loosen the tension on the lead. Soon they were heading through the front door and along the garden path and into a small one-track road with hedges either side. He looked around at the house as they exited through the gate, recognising the bungalow style from his excursion when he was a falcon. If it was the same village, then he was indeed very close to the filling station and diner. He hoped deep in his heart that Jahani had got the calculations right and that he had arrived a day or two before his death in the car.

They proceeded along the lane and into a slightly bigger road, still barely enough for two cars to pass. The weather was clear with a perfect blue sky peppered with small fluffy clouds. There was a chill in the air and a slight breeze that ruffled through his fur, but nothing that caused him discomfort or misery. As they proceeded further down the lane, he recognised one of the white thatched buildings from his flight, and then the road name on a small long sign fixed to two small posts about a metre high.

‘Yew Tree Close’, and then a little further on, ‘Cuckoo Lane’. He now knew exactly where he was. All he needed to do was whip down the road past the Fox pub and that would take him towards the M3 from the north. Then he would just need to turn right and the diner was less than half a mile away.

They turned the corner into a small park and the young lady undid his collar and let him run free. He galloped off away from her, wondering what his next move should be.

What to do? Should I run away now and try to find out the date and go to the petrol station? If I have a couple of days to kill, I might get caught by pest control or dog services or something. Maybe it would make sense to find out the date first. That might involve going back with her though and possibly getting locked in and trapped in the house.

Ed mused and debated internally, working on the best course of action. As he ran to the other side of the park he noticed a little old man sitting on a bench reading a paper. He wandered over quietly and peered at the front and back of the broadsheet as the man held it aloft, habitually consuming its stories of doom and gloom. Ed peered up inquisitively at the paper trying to focus on the date at its top.

‘FURTHER CRISIS FOR LIB DEMS AS KEY MP’S SWITCH ALLEGIANCE TO TORIES,’ read the bold headline negatively, underneath which there was a graph of steep social decline.

Ed remembered the headline clearly from the few days before his death. He had joked about it with Abella and had defaced the graph with an alternative and opposite one of bankers’ profits. He squinted to get a closer look at the date, but was disturbed by the young lady coming from behind.

“Beamer, what are you doing? Reading the headlines, you silly dog? Stop being so daft,” she exclaimed, startling the reading man and causing him to fold his paper in on itself temporarily.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Not a problem at all, always glad to be disturbed by a young lady,” replied the older man, greasily, believing he was still able to woo and charm the younger of the opposite sex.