Gavin Whitsuntide opened his eyes. He felt relaxed. That initially worried him. Until he set his mind to ignoring the tension and giving his person a thorough examination.
After a metaphorical mind sweep, Gavin found that his whole body tingled with a paradoxical numbness. He could attempt movement, but what would be the point? So, right foot across its brother, he waited out the day in order to explore it further.
Nothing happened. No mail arrived. No visitors rattled at his letterbox to demand tea and sympathy. Angels drifted on the clouds above, trees were felled somewhere he supposed and presumption rode the riverboats down the waterfalls of hell.
He understood that he may have been hungry at some point, though knew it would be pass. Like the far-off nagging thirst.
He soon presumed the days turned into more days, until only months remained.
When eventually a group of uniformed people came to inspect his condition, they were overwhelmed.
He wasn’t sure why one vomited, another threatened to follow his friend’s suit and a third stood with delicate hands clamped over her silly mouth. Maybe they had been drinking the night before.
Gavin again could only presume. Who am I to know their lives? He thought, with a mind shrug.
They were an odd bunch. Much taken to bewilderment and gasping at Gavin’s position.
‘I’ll be buggered westward if I’ve ever seen a body literally grow into a mattress before,’ Gavin heard a man in a white paper overall say.
It made Gavin wince to hear such a redundant sentence being uttered.
Sometime later they cut him from his bed.
Gavin found this to be rather rude. He was, after all, comfortable.
What harm am I doing to you? He grumbled. Are you comfortable?
The milling marauders didn’t answer. They just breathed heavier and wrapped him in a plastic bag, before zipping it shut.
It’s a good job I’m relaxed, Gavin thought. A man could suffocate inside here.