Flux

flexed his aching shoulders and went to run a bath. The water stung as it touched his burnt red skin causing him to jump out faster than a whippet from a trap; adding plenty more cold before re-entering; maybe too much as he started to shiver uncontrollably.
    When clean and dry, Iain stood naked on his bedroom carpet. He felt good; alive and exhilarated, his head clearer than at any time he could remember. Let’s have a look at you then. It had been an age since last he’d last looked into the mirror; but now he wasn’t afraid of what he might see. He knew his path and embraced his fate whole-heartedly.
    Still unshaven, he sported a bushy, black curly beard. Above this, on his cheeks and forehead his burnt skin shone like a beacon, framed by long tangled locks. His eyes, even noticing himself, were sharp, wild and sparkling with life. As before, the backdrop was not his bathroom; red fire glow etched onto a black smoky background. In the shadows things moved, writhing with a thousand unseen agonies. Iain no longer felt fear; he knew the place could be his if he so wished.
    He examined the images in the mirror, trying to make out solid forms in the mist and studying the landscape. Individual figures eluded him but as he stared a dull throbbing started in his head, a faint low heart beat calling; pulling him towards it, or it towards Iain. Either way, it seemed connected to the very fibres of his being. It shouted join us, without any words, either audible or imagined being spoken.
    It’s make your mind up time boyo.
    Not yet; he wanted to see how things panned out before committing to any one side, knowing instinctively that when the choice was made there would be no going back. He felt powerful and strong, but still knew there were things with infinitely more power than him at work.
    Tearing himself away from the scene in the glass, Iain was once again surrounded by the white tiles of the bathroom; he glanced at the pill box sitting on the rim of the sink, picked it up and looked at it contemplatively before slinging it into the small bin which resided by the side of the toilet. At least that was one decision made. He hadn’t realised just how much they’d affected his cognitive ability and dulled his senses, even though he was aware of those things happening.
    Pulling on a pair of clean jogging bottoms, he went to his bag and removed the newspaper he’d bought that morning; there were one or two articles which had caught his attention. Then, before sitting down, he went to the kitchen to fetch a pair of scissors.
    He hadn’t given much thought before to how the human race teetered on the brink; that was until he started looking. Almost every page of the paper told of disaster, war, civil unrest and men killing other men, or women. Going to work with the scissors, he snipped out stories which interested him and started to build his evidence. He needed to figure out God’s plan, and where he fitted into it. He knew people wouldn’t listen to him and change their ways if he couldn’t provide proof: They’d more than likely think him quite mad.
    The phone rang and Iain ignored it; he had work to do.
    He didn’t know how long he’d been at work when there came a knock on the door. Looking up briefly from the pile of clippings on the table, he thought about ignoring it but the knock came again, louder this time. Grumbling, he hauled himself from the chair to answer, ready to give plenty of abuse if it was a cold caller trying to sell him windows or gas.
    “Hi Iain.” Eve looked radiant as she stood in the door.
    Try to act normal , he told himself before responding. “Hello there, what brings you here?”
    “Just seeing how you are, and if you’re settling back in OK?”
    “Yes, great thanks. I’ve been fishing today.”
    “Catch anything?” then adding, “besides sunburn that is.” Looking at his glowing head and chest.
    “A few. It was good to be outdoors.” Suddenly aware of being still naked from the waist up, Iain invited Eve over the threshold and disappeared to fetch a tee shirt. Her eyes scanned the room as she entered.
    “Want a drink?” he shouted while filling the kettle.
    “Tea would be good.”
    Returning with drinks, they sat and talked for a while about his time in hospital, Anne’s suicide and other things. Iain could see her eyes moving to the newspaper clippings on the table.
    “A project,” he said, sensing her curiosity.
    “Oh yes, what project is that?”
    “Ah