PADS #23

He remembered nothing of his journey home, nor what transpired during the night alone in his house. Seeking refuge from what had occurred, he was only conscious of the void he currently occupied, one from which there was no escape. It was a state of oblivion which was surprised to find itself sharing this condition with a large band of drummers trying to wake the dead.

Eventually, he determined the pounding was inside his head and it was incessant. It did strangely remind him of the tune to Rule Britannia, a tune he often found himself humming and one in which his colleagues at work had taken great joy in singing off key to him whenever boredom took their minds. In fact the more he concentrated on the banging, the easier it became to notice the rhythm was slightly out, something he was sure his mind wouldn’t allow no matter what state it found itself in.

Opening eyes to a spinning world, he recounted opening the sherry when he had returned home and drinking far more than he had intended. The tannins left an uncomfortable palate and he brushed the crumbs of partially devoured water crackers from his ruffled cardigan. Slowly he made his way from the chaise lounge in the hallway to a shadow silhouetted against the frosted glass of his front door. It was rocking with movements which coincided with the out of tune banging. Against the laws of gravity Wyse rose from quadruped to biped and opened the door to be confronted by Elms.

‘Hello,’ said Elms.

‘What are you doing here?’ groaned Wyse, ‘we’re not back to work for three days and frankly I’m not feeling great, so if you wouldn’t mind.’

Trying to close the door, Elms deftly slipped his shoe into the doorway preventing it from closing. It was a technique he had demonstrated to Wyse before by keeping open hospital doors which seemed determined to shut by suddenly increasing their mass to that of a dwarf star.

‘Nope, don’t mind at all but what do you want me to tell them?’

‘Tell who exactly and again, why are you here Elms?’ demanded Wyse leaning against the door with all his might.

Although a civilized man, he had never invited Elms into his house and wasn’t quite sure why he was still arguing with Elms. In fact he wasn’t quite sure why he had answered the door, after the incident this morning he didn’t want to see anyone least of all a co-conspirator in his humiliation even if it were unintentional.

‘You know,’ said Elms leaning forward and dropping his voice to a conspirators whisper, ‘the group, the boys and girls, the club, the ones who need to know.’

‘Stop!’ said Wyse, ‘look I don’t care, I’m not meeting anyone in fact I’m going back to...’