A Cleansing of Souls by Stuart Ayris Page A

lain there, through hail and storm.
     
    But Ron knew instinctively that Michael would have been the exception. Michael would have knelt down beside this man from whom he himself shamefully walked. He would have taken him in his arms and softly brushed the scurrying creatures from the deep folds of the black coat. And he would have cradled him like a baby.
     
    The proposed visit to the area by vague royalty ensured the removal of the wretched body some days later. You see, these scenes never happen, never occur. In a flash they are gone from sight and conscience forever.
     
    A tall man in a perfect suit stands erect before his peers. His limbs are strong. His back is straight. He is a proud man. And so is his wife. He is well respected by all about him. He knows what is best for you and he knows what is best for me. With a majestic stride he mounts the box of my dreams and with a long finger he gestures at the crumpled heap of my future.
     
    “These,” he proclaims in a voice loud and brave, “These are the people one steps over when one comes out of the opera.”
     
    Oh, what cheers there are.
     
    And amidst the roars and the adulation, the crumpled heap turns to pure light and surely enters Heaven in glory.
     
    As Ron had been preparing to go to Big Town, Tom was waking from another dream. He had begun to sleep with some regularity the last few nights and was becoming used to his new routine. He was beginning to accept the strictures. It was all a case of focusing the mind. Forget this. Remember that. It was as if he had just been born, his first nineteen years on earth being nothing more than a prolonged labour.
     
    It had not occurred to him to call his parents. He had told Michael they were dead. He was in a new role now. He could be whomever he wished - except, perhaps, himself.
     
    But dreams were bringing him down. He had no control over their content or over the feelings with which they left him when he woke. Before going to sleep the previous night on the cold ground, he had put on his black sweatshirt; thankful for the warmth and comfort it gave him. As the summer wore on, the evenings had become cooler. And that night, as the stars and the moon looked down upon him, Tom dreamed a dream…
     
    …the car speeds along the road following the twists and turns as if upon a rail. The moon is high and shines upon the fields, illuminating them, igniting them, inciting them to flame. Tom is in the driver's seat and beside him is a beautiful girl. The car is red and silver, cutting through the night like some blood-stained knife. There is rock and roll music on the radio and the girl taps her sweet feet to the beat-beat-beat…
     
    …a petrol station appears from out of the ground and the car cruises smoothly in. Tom fills up the tank and the girl smiles at him, all hidden wonder and enticement. “Let’s go,” she's saying. “Let’s just leave all this behind us.” A thrill crackles in the air and dust explodes from beneath the wheels of the car…then, from above, we see the car in the middle of black field, overturned and steaming. The girl is gone. In the distance, there is a light. Tom crawls from the wreckage and weaves his way across the field on skates…
     
    …and the bright white light just draws him on…
     
    …he's at work now, in the foyer of the insurance company. People wander around, talking in a language that he cannot comprehend. A man dressed as a butler taps him on the shoulder and Tom turns. The man pins a number to Tom’s shirt and smiles, a tooth falling from his crooked mouth as he does so, twisting to the carpet in slow motion…the lift doors open and a hundred people enter the lift. Tom looks on. Two long arms encircle his waist and fingernails dig into him. In the mirror on the wall opposite, he sees the receptionist clinging to his body. And as he watches, helpless, unable to move, the make-up and the skin fall from her face and her clothes drop to the floor, leaving just