Hero & Heroin HTML version

1. Overture To a Dream
…………The Statues are standing with love in their hand
They’re trying to live but they don’t understand
Sarah-Jane was lost; not in the vast complexity of our synthetic society, but in the forests
of her conscience, which were the downfall of all who ventured through it. She was alone, in the
automated constituency of tomorrow’s misfortunes. Lost like a goddess in search of vengeance. The
red clouds of marmalade ecstasy had vanished from the swollen skies she was falling deeper into the
abyss of night watched over by the peering eyes of the marmalade tree. Outside in the close the
children were playing ‘kerby’ with a football. The constant thud of the ball as it hit the pavement edge
was distracting to the point of annoyance. Sarah got annoyed very easily these days. Her headaches
were getting worse; they had been for weeks now. She could see stars, and planets for that matter,
without the use of a telescope.
The semi-drugged serpent slowly slithered downstairs to the sweet aroma of breakfast,
which lay waiting on its white carpet. (Except that, it was not breakfast; but dinner!) The kitchen
revolved around her hungry eyes and Sunday sneered beneath its mask. Yes, today was Sunday! She
hated Sunday, and once she had abandoned the depths of her daydreams and sacrificed the soft
euphoria of bedtime, she could begin to pluck the fruit from the over laden branches, which hung
rhythmically from the ceiling of her room. Sarah-Jane Sullivan stared into the swirling coffee and
once more her thoughts were on a journey in her blanket of dreams……….
She leant over towards him, aesthetically pleasing his whole body, his nerves stood out
from their limbs and fervour racked within him. She cupped her hands and cradled his head inside
them, each movement a work of art, each sign a sign of love. Mark washed his eyes in her beauty-
Well it was better than Optrex! He pursed his aching lips towards hers: a kiss, the magic of the lover’s
mist, the soft sweet touch of gossamer from an angel’s wing, frothy clouds of pink mush on the