A Survivor's Guide to Eternity

A SURVIVOR’S GUIDE

TO ETERNITY

First Published in the UK 2014 by Mirador Publishing

Copyright © 2014 by Pete Lockett

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without permission of the publishers or author. Excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

First edition: 2014

Any reference to real names and places are purely fictional and are constructs of the author. Any offence the references produce is unintentional and in no way reflects the reality of any locations or people involved.

A copy of this work is available through the British Library.

ISBN:
978-1-910104-12-5

Mirador Publishing

Mirador

Wearne Lane

Langport

Somerset

TA10 9HB

A Survivor’s Guide To Eternity

By

Pete Lockett

Table of Contents

Chapter 01:
  
Through the looking grass

Chapter 02:
 
 
Into the light

Chapter 03:
  
Sliding deeper

Chapter 04:
  
The last supper

Chapter 05:
  
Home county rapids

Chapter 06:
  
Silicon Alley

Chapter 07:
  
Hotline back to the living

Chapter 08:
   
Get Smunky

Chapter 09:
  
Vestigia Nulla Retrorsum

Chapter 10:
  
The red leather saddle

Chapter 11:
  
The Koan Dome

Chapter 12:
  
Fritz the baker

Chapter 13:
  
Marks in the sand

Chapter 14:
  
ONE
, TWO, PUSH

Chapter 15:
  
Welcome to Denmark

Chapter 16:
  
Biltong and smoked salmon

Chapter 17:
  
The dreaded Peabody estate

Chapter 18:
  
Sambar for breakfast

Chapter 19:
  
Arctic Bear Haggis

Chapter 20:
  
Strictly come cooking

Chapter 21:
  
17.49, 17.52, 17.56, 17.59

Chapter 22:
  
Little telepathic monster

Chapter 1

Through the looking grass

Ed Trew was no stranger to hangovers, but this was something else. His head throbbed like a Belisha beacon, his throat was arid like used sandpaper and he had a nausea that occupied him from the lowest depths of his stomach. Slowly, his heavy eyelids forged open one by one, like inflatable lilos dragged through quicksand. Desperately, he gasped at the air that dragged over his dry tongue like barbed wire across sand. This was going to be no ordinary day!

As his eyelids opened, the brutal light pierced to the centre of his brain with blinding incision. He frantically fumbled to cover his face from the powerful rays, confused as to his whereabouts.

The light was jetting in from a small arched opening just ahead of him. He reached forward and began to peer through the hole, moving his head further out into the brilliant sunlight. A merciless heat immediately began scorching the top of his head and arms as the light smothered him like a nuclear flash, intensifying the thumping inside his head and pushing his eyes from behind as if they were stuck in a rugby scrum.

Tortured, he momentarily retreated back into the semi-darkness not sure whether it was some sort of cave or hut that housed him. After a brief moment of respite he ventured out again, anxious for information and acutely aware of his crippling thirst.

His arms and legs felt strangely paralysed, cumbersome and heavy, his movement severely limited. A stiff and inflexible neck minimised his field of view, whilst his head continued to pulsate with tension, his eyelids fighting helplessly to defend against the brightness.

Unable to stand, face down on the floor, the only way he could move was to throw his arms and legs forward in pairs like a swimmer wading through wet cement. His momentum was slow and each movement kicked dusty soil up into his face, choking and irritating his dehydrated mouth turning it into a dried up, powdery hell.

As his eyes adjusted, he slowly became aware of his surroundings. It felt like a fairy tale setting where everything was too big to be believable. Strange, tall stalks and clumps of thick grass partially obscured his view as he struggled along as best he could.
Desperately thirsty and hungry, he felt heavier than ever, exhausting himself with every cumber-some body movement, slowing his progress to a snail pace.

Maybe I should’ve stayed back under cover after all
, he thought as he picked his heavy limbs up one after the other, trying to move forwards.

He continued up a small slope and into the respite of the shade. The parched grass was bigger and thicker than he had ever experienced before, looking as if it could be measured in feet rather than inches. Progress continued in minute increments as he continued on, launching unwieldy arm after unwieldy leg against the partially verdant resistance, way too heavy for any meaningful momentum.

His head continued to pound from within, his stomach churned and his eyes succumbed to the baking sun, even in the shade. The eyelids had loosened a little but were nothing more than a tissue in a thunderstorm.

Soon he ground to a halt on a flat piece of ground alongside a grass clump. His head was motionless on the dirt, impervious to the dust that crept deep into his mouth with each breath. Nervously, his arms pulsated in time with his breathing. This would normally have been a definite cause for concern, but in the circumstances it went largely unnoticed. This aside, he remained inanimate, fixed, frozen, immobile and stalled, wondering if it was a strange dream or a nasty reality.

The last thing he remembered was driving home to
London
from a business trip in
Devon
. It was just snap shots and flashes: getting in the car, whipping past vans and trucks, white lines firing past the vehicle, tedious news bulletins interwoven with unnecessary interjections from the sat nav, and annoying text alerts on his phone. How did all this lead him to where he was now?

Suddenly there was a powerful explosion and a great thud, as a gust of wind rushed past his motionless head, forcing him to flinch in panic and momentarily loose consciousness. Next thing he knew, he had woken back in the darkened hut.

“How can I have got back here? All that effort and struggle and I’m back where I started in this strange hut. What the hell’s going on?” he said out loud to himself.

Disgruntled, he peered through the bright opening and pushed his weary head forwards. To his shock, he was not back at the start at all, but was right where the loud thud had startled him. Once again, with his face to the ground, he gestured with his big heavy arms and manoeuvred his body to the left to see the cause of the scare.

This must be some sort of stupid joke
, he thought to himself as he took sight of the fallen object.

Great! A giant, scrunched-up Coke can! Have I landed on a Panto set or what?

The half-crushed vessel rested not far from his head. He moved cautiously towards it to get a closer look. Then he reached around with his arms but was not able to extend out far enough to get a hold of it.

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.