The dream

The car pulled into the driveway. A tall, thin man slowly climbed out of the driver’s seat. He swayed with fatigue, fumbling his way through the darkness into his bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, not even bothering to take his shoes off. Seconds later he was asleep.

*

John Medly was born on 6^th May 1986 to two loving parents. They raised him with great care, following the advice given in ‘Playful parenting’, ‘Instilling optimism in young children’ and the myriad of other parenting books they bought. Evidently it worked, because John grew up to be the perfect son. He was always polite, always worked hard at school, and had many friends. He finished high school, graduating at the top of his class, with marks sufficient to grant him a place at a prestigious medical college in the city. Eight years later, he had completed his degree and began work as a doctor. His medical career was nothing short of exceptional. He pioneered treatments in neuroscience, developing a procedure, which cured dementia patients of 90% of their symptoms at a minimal cost to the government. More exceptional still, he developed a cure for malaria that saved thousands of lives every year. Conference organisers eagerly paid for his airfares to fly to exotic locations to speak to eager audiences of other doctors who all held him in great esteem.

He was a great man, possibly the most selfless person who had ever lived. When he died unexpectedly at the age of 53 from a heart attack, it was a shock to the world. He was never one for self-promotion, but somehow it seemed to have happened anyway. Thousands of people flocked to the cemetery for his funeral, and thousands had to be turned away. As his coffin was lowered into the ground, his wife attempted to throw herself in with it and had to be held back by the sobbing relatives.

Five years later, after enormous public pressure, the pope officially canonised Medly for his work for humanity. A statue was erected in Vatican City, and every year, pilgrims posed next to it, and prayed to Saint John for healing. Unfortunately their prayers never reached him because he was undergoing a long stint in hell. Twenty thousand years later, when he emerged from the sulphurous depths, his soul mutilated by systematic torture and abuse, he was allowed up into heaven to join the other wretches.

*

The alarm sounded and the man instantly and expertly thumbed it off. He pulled out a notebook and began to scribble furiously before the dream disappeared from his head.