Logic seemed to dictate that if he dug for long enough, he’d eventually end up in China. Richard didn’t remember where he’d heard it, or when, but it was a truth he did remember was so ubiquitous he hardly needed to question it– and so, on a temperate Kent evening, he laid out his tools and got to work in his backyard.
Excitement was the theme of the first few days. He’d never ventured further outside of his county than Essex, and all he knew of Chinese culture was to do with his order at the local takeaway, but Richard was a curious person no matter what others might have said about him. Curious, and daring, and smart, and this endeavour proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt. He had a few adventures left in him yet.
But, excitement turned to trepidation as he started to sweat. Unreasonably warm, wasn’t it. Now that he thought about the matter carefully, there were some great highlights to Kent cuisine that he might miss whilst in China, such as the proper bacon sarnie, or the authentic Maidstone kebab. That aforementioned Chinese takeaway had served him some real duds over the years, even though he’d remained loyal. He wondered if those duds were actually what much of the food over in China was like. He wondered what they’d think of him when he stopped showing up.
After some time, it got too hot to sweat. He began to cook instead, at which point he worried he might die on this adventure. That seemed sort of alright to him, as opposed to passing away in some grotty nursing home in Colchester, but the idea that his body would disintegrate into ashes somewhere no one might ever know greatly depressed him.
Cor, he thought, as he looked up. The sky was a tiny turquoise pinprick– so tiny that it was very possibly just a trick of the imagination.
Richard continued to dig until he felt he couldn’t anymore, which was when his arms reached a deep vermillion, like cured rashers straight out of the pan, and the skin of his palms bubbled each time he attempted to grasp the metal handle of his spade. He probably ought to have gone for the wooden one. Hindsight is something, something, etcetera. For the first time since he’d set off, Richard sat down.
He looked at his hands morosely. From this far away, the nursing home seemed pretty good after all.
Yikes!
Richard hastily resumed with a renewed energy, even as his ears began to curl and blacken, and the few hairs left on his scalp sizzled and fell, as the custards of his eyes started to soften, and boil, and fry, and his lips cracked and split apart like dry land. But then! Water!
His spade hit wet earth just once before his cramped tunnel collapsed into wide, open vista, then he floated downwards until he broke the surface and he could look around– serene blue, for as far as the eye could see.
“Christ alive,” Richard said, and though this certainly wasn’t China, it was true that the water felt nice and cool on his skin.
His bald head bobbed along, a red spot in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
