the trip

The trip

“Having fun?” Adam asked.
“sure.” Mick lied, not sure if it was the stench of damp sheep, the constant rain bouncing of the tent or the knowledge that even now the earwigs were gathering their forces in the tubes that kept the canvas above his head taut, in readiness for a night assault that caused his current mood. Whichever it was, of all the adjectives he was currently thinking of, fun wasn’t even on the list.

The light was as brief as it was blinding.

Mick looked at Adam, relieved to see the look of confusion in his face that meant he hadn’t imagined it.

“What was that?” Mick asked, aware vaguely that the rain had stopped.

“Lightening?” Adam replied, more hopeful than reassuring.

“I suppose there’s only one way to find out.” Mick said, sounding a lot braver than he felt, opening up the tent flap. He shot backward, his face white.

“What? A sheep getting too close for you?” Adam asked.

“A…an ear…earwig.” Mick finally said.

“I know you don’t like them, but don’t you think that’s a tad of an overreaction?”

“It’s seven foot tall.” Mick snapped, grasping the small vial of insect repellent he’d forgotten to apply to the tent rings. What he expected to do with it even he didn’t know, but it comforted him.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I told you to lay of the drink…” Adam said, sticking his head out the open flap. He joined Mick at the back of the tent. “Seven foot? Try ten.” He whispered, as pincers began to tear at canvas.

A second flash, seen through closed eyelids, brought back the rain.

“Having fun?” Adam asked, seemingly oblivious to the last few moments.

Mick nodded. Suddenly damp sheep, rain and tiny earwigs didn‘t seem so bad.