He had stopped wearing any clothes back at the end of May, if he could peel off his skin and strip down to his skeleton, Jack would have. He had been too hot for too long. Right this moment he was sitting up to his neck in the local river considering his options.
1 Stay where he was.
2 Get out.
A third option – being teleported to a Scottish harbour on the far north-eastern coast, placed in a large bowl of ice and placed at the bottom of a freezer compartment large enough to accommodate a few books, his sketch pad and some ice cream was unlikely to present itself very soon.
So he waited.
He watched a butterfly drift by.
“How do you ……?” he asked, before realising he didn’t have the energy to finish the question.
He looked around.
The rest of the village, population eighty-three were also sitting in the river.
Some were watching the football – it appeared to hold an importance for them to do so. In the shallower water, a few of the more earnest were discussing evacuation plans should the fires, for so long threatened, break out. Most were simply floating considering their only two options.
1 Stay where he was.
2 Get out.
But one other was watching the butterfly, and when the insect crossed Jack’s vision the four watching eyes locked together.
Without anything being said, the two simultaneously stepped out of the river into their communal nakedness, and followed the fluttering wings.
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