Mayfly, Man, Madness

MAYFLY, MAN AND MADNESS

The early morning began to seep into the unconscious world of Gerry
Springer. It was the call of the dawn chorus, which, had become a
familiar friendly sound, and was the only alarm call needed. He knew
all the sounds made by the individual birds that frequented this area
and had spent the first few moments of consciousness every day for as
long as he could remember listening. With eyes closed he would try to
imagine what each individual bird was saying to the bird on the next
branch or in the next tree. The sounds were far to pleasant to be a
warning to others to stay away, like the so called experts would have
you believe, they were the locals saying good morning to all around. As
the rest of his senses came slowly to life the gentle movements of the
converted coal barge, which he now called home, were the sign for him
to open his eyes.
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Converted is a word, which has to be viewed with caution when referring
to Gerrys home. The barge had been cleaned and painted, at least on the
inside. It still had the original green canvas cover which now served
as a roof, and somewhere to drape clothes when they were wet. His
possessions, apart from the few pieces of threadbare clothes, were an
old trench style raincoat, a pan, two plates, several knives, one fork,
three spoons an old transistor radio, which had not worked for some
time, but, he would get round to sorting one day, plus fishing rods,
reels, home-made floats and hooks. He considered an old petrol lighter
to be his most prized possession. A present from one of the local
farmers he would spend hours polishing the silver case. To Gerry
Springer his lighter was worth more than the crown jewels.
Eating what he caught from the river and found in the woods, he
survived quite well. Occasionally one of the local farmers would have
him clear a drainage gully. Paying him with a decent meal and eggs,
milk the odd chicken. Maybe even some old clothing to help keep the
chill out, and a couple of pounds which came in handy for flour, sugar
and tea. This arrangement had gone on as far back as he chose to
remember.
He would make the three mile trek to the village only when necessary.
Not that he disliked seeing the people and stopping for the occasional
chat, on the contrary, he enjoyed it. The problem was he had very
little in common with people who lived in houses, ate regular meals and
watched television day in day out. Television dulled their brains and
made them forget that the real world was on the other side of the front
door. In his own way he considered himself lucky
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Opening his eyes he studied the green canvas. He knew every hole and
mark on it, the chinks of light, the weathered stains, all were like
old friends. Swinging his legs off a bed made from old pallets covered
with straw he willed his aching limbs to work. Slowly stretching he
made for the end of the barge, threw back the canvas and was met by a
rush of cool spring air. Spring mornings were Gerrys favourite time of
the year. The first sign that summer will not be long coming.
Snowdrops, crocuses and daffodils would pop up along the rivers edges
and fishing would get better. That for Gerry would mean the lean times
of winter had finished. Yes from now until the end of autumn life is
just a little bit better.
Sitting down by one of the five beech trees under whose branches his
home had been moored for so long, sheltering it from wind and rain, he
studied the gently rolling waters and planned the day ahead. The first
task, light a fire and get a brew on. Gerry had over the years come to
appreciate the feeling of well being that that seemed to emanate from
the glow of a well tended camp fire. The early morning brew, which in
times of shortage had to be made with nettles or the roots of
dandelions rated, in his opinion, as one of life's luxuries. Collecting
fallen timber and foods such as berries and fungi, to supplement his
mainly fish and rabbit diet, were all part of the daily routine for
Gerry Springer. Fire lit, brew on he was once again settled by his
favourite tree
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A searing pain in the side of his head and a bright flash of white
light caused him to drop the lighter he held. Instinctively his hands
went up to press the temples in a bid to halt or numb the pain. At the
same time a voice that appeared to emanate from within his brain called
his name.
The pain disappeared as quickly as it had appeared the voice inside his
head had also gone. These turns, as he liked to describe them to
himself, were here, and then.in an instant gone, and the only real
after effect was the feeling of not being alone. There seemed no point
in consulting doctors, there was never any permanent damage and
besides, he could do without the fuss.
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Brew finished, treasured lighter safely back where it belonged in his
shirt pocket Gerry stood and made his way to the barge. Collecting
fishing tackle and fastening down the canvas cover he began to walk
along the riverside, watching as he went for any signs that dinner may
be lurking beneath the surface.
On the opposite bank an old man out for an early morning stroll with a
small pack of terriers raised his stick and waved a greeting to the
dishevelled figure with the fishing rod. "There's plenty of movement
down by the substation". The old man informed him, in a tone of voice
that seemed a little too young for the body it had come from. One of
the Terriers stopped running around to look inquisitively at the old
man, then at Gerry, then back to the old man. Thanks, I'm heading down
there now" "In that event I'll bid you good morning" replied the old
man. As he turned to walk away the same terrier, that had glanced at
Gerry a few seconds earlier, took one last gaze across the rivers
expanse, barked at the figure on the opposite bank and
disappeared.
Another five minutes walking and the familiar sight of the substation
came into view. As he approached the splash of water flowing over the
small man made weir grew louder. Closer still the faint hum made by
electricity rushing though the cables became audible. Rounding a bend
the strange grey shapes of the electricity generating gadgets came into
view. Lifeless, grey and drab surrounded by an eight foot high grey
lifeless fence with nasty looking razor wire to keep out unwanted
guests.
Pain, a flash of blinding white light and the voice calling his name, a
sensation of falling, then darkness.

Slowly awareness crept back into Gerrys head. With little thought to
the events that had just occurred he raised himself into a sitting
position and recovered his possessions. The only after effects of the
fall appeared to be a throbbing shin, which had made contact with
something harder than itself on the way down and the voice inside his
head still calling his name, albeit softly.
Ten minutes later the search for bait was on. Worm hunting is a noble
art, you have to know where to look and what to look for. His
daydreaming came to an abrupt end as the scream of a jet engine filled
the air. In the time it took to stand up straight the sound of another
three jets shattered the silence.
Throughout the morning a steady stream of aircraft passed overhead. To
a person with an over active imagination, Gerry thought to himself,
this could be a war zone, there's so much traffic.
The line went tight and the rod bent, quivered and jerked about, which
were the unmistakable signs of a large perch. With reactions that
surprised even him he lifted the rod and hooked the prey. Two minutes
later and Gerry held his catch, a perch of around one and a half
pounds. The jet screaming overhead caused Gerry to momentarily loosen
his grip on the fish. The fish in return wriggled free of its captor
and dropped, with a triumphant splash, back into the murky water.
Fresh bait on the hook, arm swinging backwards making ready to cast, a
noise, a quick glance, a jet, then a bright white light. This light was
brighter and whiter than at any time in the past, and pain, not like
before this was more intense, a burning sensation, a feeling of every
nerve ending in your body exploding at the very same instant. It took
forever, or that's what it felt like, for Gerry Springer to loose his
grip on consciousness.
When it was over all that remained of a man, who ten seconds earlier
had been contemplating a decent meal, was a heap of charred flesh, with
smouldering remnants of clothing clinging to twisted limbs. The remains
of a once buzzing substation was sending great fanfares of sparks high
into the smoke darkened skies. All about the grass had gone leaving in
its place charred dead earth. The twisted remains on the ground were
still.

-------------------- -------------------- "Morning Ladies" came the
call from John Brinley.
"Morning Mr Brinley".
The four nurses on the ward replied almost in unison. John Brinley had
been a consultant at St Clairs for ten years. This morning, as had
happened on other mornings, he had in his company several junior
members of staff. He enjoyed teaching others and believed the only way
to teach was on the wards, and not in the classroom, a view which
earned him a lot of respect.
As he walked slowly down the centre of the ward he explained, to the
eager group following, the circumstances of one particular
patient.
"This man came to us five years ago. He, or should I say, what was left
of him, was found by the river after a jet fighter ploughed into an
electricity substation. Some of you may remember the incident."
John Brinley paused, looked at the group and opened the door to a small
private room. Propped up in bed was a figure, which, was barely
recognisable as human. The beep, beep, beep of monitors and the sound
of assisted breathing was the only break in an otherwise silent room.
"We know nothing about him except that he was some kind of hermit".
There was in John Brindleys mind no reason to disturb the figure any
longer, and with one gesture ushered the group out of the room. He did
however glance back before closing the door. The only thought in his
head was."Who are you".

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The early morning began to seep into the unconscious world or Gerry
Springer. It was the call of the dawn chorus, which, had become a
familiar friendly sound, and was the only alarm call needed.