Mr. Antony Footpump woke one morning and looked down in horror as it seemed that his memory foam mattress had forgotten him. Even when he made his way into the kitchen he realised that the toast had popped out without warning. Even the windows had turned a blind eye.
He took a match and held it against the ring but the gas had also run out on him. He opened the fridge and although it had thawed towards him – the floor was wet with a stream of water – it was still very cold to his presence.
Using the telephone he found out that even it was engaged and was rude to him by blowing an electronic raspberry at him. The postman passed without knocking and next door’s dog didn’t utter a bark. The cat flap was totally calm as it had been since late last night.
In a state of mild panic he reach for the remote but the TV refused to be turned on by him. The fire had gone out and the last of the smoke had disappeared up the flue. The Expelair fan inhaled and held its breath so as not to be heard by him.
He tried writing a note asking for help but even the pen had run out on him. The pillows wouldn’t talk and his watch wasn’t looking at him nor telling him about the time.
Antony, suddenly much calmer now, turned and got back into bed, perchance to dream himself real again.