A personal fantasy

I'd love to visit the Derbyshire Dales, Dove Dale specifically, to walk amongst its hills and valleys, away from man's destructive touch. Not a road nor building in sight, its splendour filling me with awe and hope. I'd walk and gaze and slip (oops!) and wear myself out but I'd feel satisfied. I'd be tired, but satisfied.

At the end of the day, before it starts to get dark, I'd traverse the edge of a hill and come to an unusually flat area. Not entirely flat, but a unique place amongst the rolling surroundings.

I'd see a fire engine, parked. How it got there I'd struggle to comprehend. My thoughts wouldn't linger though, as from the fire engine a group of men begin to emerge. They walk around the truck, and it becomes clear that they are accompanied by somebody who certainly isn't one of them. Grossly rotund, beastly even, this man has an unerring grin upon his face. Meeting his gaze, I'd feel a great evil upon me. I'd shut my eyes quickly and pray and finally the feeling would drift away, but never from all the warlocks and wizards of the land had such darkness been felt.

I'd come to, having no idea how much time had passed, but looking up I'd see him there still, surrounded by the masked firemen. The masks were for their protection. I'd be sure not to meet his gaze again.

They'd poke and taunt him, but his grin wouldn't subside. They'd push him and force cow dung into his fatty crevices, but still his monstrous smirk would remain.

I'd stare in wonder as they rip his clothes from him, as he stands there naked but for the smile on his face. I'd crouch aghast as they push him to the floor, and two men begin to unroll the hose on the fire engine. A third begins to turn the tap, and the end of the hose begins to dribble. As the large round tap rotates time and again, like the constantly regenerating - specially made - table of food this man spends most of his time at, the pressure increases and the hose begins to emit a great gushing of water.

As the stream of water meets his face, the men begin to cheer. I'd begin to hypothesise on exactly what they were cheering at, but the cheers would soon subside as the hose is brought away... his grin remaining.

The men would roar and shout in frustration and begin to fight amonst themselves. Two would die.

In time calm, they'd reach some kind of agreement. They'd remove the man's arms and begin to aim the hose at his midriff. The pressure would be increased until the tap would go no further, and the man would finally begin to roll backwards. He'd roll back and forth, up and down the gentle hill, over and over. His face would turn into view intermittently...

His grin remaining.