'What you see here is genuine.......'
'The man in the white suit, who had similar features to Jack Nicholson walked towards The Guy who was waiting nervously on the shining white and silver stage, and leaning in whispered with a ninety-forties BBC broadcasting accent, ‘What you see here is genuine’.
Across the River both the Twin Towers stood shimmering amongst the rubble of war-torn Berlin, men and women in shiny tin hats ran through the streets as trees started to grow at the speed of light, splintering the already scarred pavements, screaming and singing, as they darted between transparent world war two tanks that were moving in a different frame rate to the rest of the calm yet, manic pandemonium.
Was this a peep show from inside a ninety sixties blue post box?.
The Guy fearfully spied helmet-less astronauts from the fabled Apollo 20 mission, smoking at the side of the Hollywood set that was covered in moon dust.
Carnaby Street was so magical at this time of year, with its cloud melting weather balloons and bright illuminating candy frosted window panes that vibrated gently with the babbling of Astral plane babies.
Showtime was almost upon The Guy.
As he looked up from the book that he was scribbling in, he saw; 08.13.08, on his strapless stopwatch, his warm endorphin Ocean swirled through his once angry veins, and from out of the waiting crowd she appeared, seductively smirking at him, a smile that ignited the senses.
She flicked her highlighted hair and swaggered towards him within her tight-fitting, green lacy, retro dress, it hugged her figure like a second skin, adding to the almost dangerous reptilian quality of her aura, her vibrations drew out a lustful desire from deep within the victim she had chosen at that moment.
She was the forbidden fruit from the tree in Eden, she was the poison to both Adam and Eve, who fought to the death over their addicted need of her, both desperate to taste her, to be sucked into her essence, like a bee’s desire to enter the most beautiful flower with the alluring promise of the sweetest most heavenly nectar.
The drawbridge opened and the comrades entered the city of light, starry-eyed, hypnotised by the blinding white.
As they entered they faded and fabled stardust, fading faster and deeper than the purity of newborn sobriety.
Four times fifty living men, and I heard nor sigh nor groan.
Water filled The Guy’s lungs and the Ocean faded to a cold blackness, it tightened around him, gripping him and pulling him down, down away from the surface light, tighter, darker, suffocating, panic rising, he couldn’t breathe, he began to helplessly thrash and then within a split second felt a pressure from beneath that propelled him at a million miles an hour towards the surface, literally smashing through the surface of the Ocean, shooting through the clouds, the sea below a blur.
He spat out the water and gasped, his heart almost exploding, his face wet.'