The air is hot and thick like soup, weighty grey-black clouds loom overhead, adding to the muffling effect of the heat. Walking is difficult; his hair sticks uncomfortably to his head with perspiration. He passes by shop windows, filled with material wonders, expensive items and clothing. He snorts in disdain, forcing his hands deeper into the pockets of his jeans, which are washed out and torn around his knees.

As he passes people in the street, he is under the distinct impression that he knew them once, recognising every face dimly, a distant notion in his mind. He looks to them, but they avoid his gaze, busy, rushing on their way to their destination.
He approaches a crossing, loping over the road and entering the park. Tall green trees stand around in small clumps, a menacing gust of wind rustling their coat of leaves. The grass under his feet is damp with dew, glistening in the sporadic sunlight. The water soaks into his trainers, dampening his socks. He sighs, drawing his hooded jacket closer around him, although the heat is still evident.

He approaches a war memorial, a standalone block of polished granite, inscribed with hundreds of names. In places, teenagers have sprayed anecdotes with cans of paint. He sits down slowly, resting his back against the firm pillar. Drawing a lighter from deep inside his jacket, he sits, flicking the flame on and off. It dances before his exhausted eyes, before flickering out.
From this vantage point, he can see the whole town, a grey, suburban bustling collective. He observes people hurrying along the main street, children being dragged along by their parents, the stress of modern life affecting even the smallest infant.

An insect skitters over the grass, alighting on his trouser leg. He coaxes the small creature on to his finger, watching it run over his hand aimlessly. In a swift movement of his fist, he crushes the insect between his fingers, wiping his hand on the damp grass beside him. Reaching inside his jacket once more, he retrieves a crumpled photograph, creases permanently indented into its surface. Focussing solely on the picture, he smiles sadly, his eyes telling of a greater depth.

A large house, surrounded by a beautiful, lush garden, the grass is so green it looks surreal. Four people stand before the house, a tall man, with a broad smile, his arm around a smaller, elfin woman whose hair is long and blonde, caught in some invisible breath of wind. Two children stand at their feet, one, a young boy, clutching a torn old teddy by its one ear. The other child was a young girl with pigtails. She cradled a tiny black speck of a kitten.

He sighs again, looking down upon the town to where the house stands. The windows are broken, and the bricks are blackened. The once beautiful garden a muddy marsh. The house a mere shell, abandoned for seven years. The fire had caused irreparable damage to the buildings structure; teenagers broke in sometimes, daring each other to venture into the dark, forbidding hallways.

'Its haunted y'know. They all died, burned alive.'�
'Nah. They wasn't all in there, was they?'�
'Nobody seen the son since though 'av they?'�
'I bet he went mental. Lost 'is family an' all that'�'�

The cold wet ground was becoming very uncomfortable. He arose from his seat upon the grass and pocketed his picture carefully. Pulling his hood up over his head, he ambled away down towards the town, as the rain began to fall rhythmically from the clouds overhead.

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